Penance
by emospritelet
Summary: Warning: contains underage sex. Student/teacher smut fic requested by mr-r-gold on tumblr. This has now developed into a multi-chapter work. After their encounter in his office, Mr Gold finds out something about Miss French's life he didn't suspect. Belle is 16. Please do not read if you have issues with the subject matter. This is the angstiest thing I have ever written, btw
1. Temptation

**A/N: as a punishment for writing smutty limericks about he and dr-nicholas-rush (yes, really), mr-r-gold made me write something that he knew well and truly would squick me out. He requested a teacher/student smut fic with an underage Belle. Now, I'm aware that I sail pretty close to the wind with TLG and BFAE, but Belle and Gold do actually have a shared history and are deeply in love with one another. In this fic, Gold is a teacher, and in a position of power. Hence the squick. Therefore…**

 **Trigger warnings for underage sex and student/teacher sex. If you have issues with either of those, do not read this fic. Most especially do not read this fic now I've warned you and THEN have a go at me about the subject matter. I realise this is OOC. I realise that Gold would not do this. This is very much an AU.**

* * *

Belle made her way wearily to class, hoping she could make it before her teacher got there. She was never late in the normal course of things, but then things were hardly normal. Her father had had a bad night, the fourth in a row, and she had sat with him from two-thirty in the morning, trying to be cheerful, for his sake. He had finally slipped into something resembling a peaceful sleep around seven, and Belle, much to her present chagrin, had put her head down on her folded arms for a moment. When next she looked at the clock, it was almost nine-thirty, and the high school day had long since started. Luckily the first lesson was History, and she had a good relationship with Mr Short, who taught the class. She was confident that he would be understanding.

She yawned widely as she entered Storybrooke High through the side doors, ignoring the curious looks sent towards her by wandering staff members. Her eyes were grainy with tiredness, and she didn't feel equipped to deal with her chemistry teacher. Mr Gold was, to put it mildly, a bastard. A highly attractive bastard, to be sure, although Ruby and Emma would have stared at her incredulously if they had known of her secret, all-consuming crush on the man. This was something she had kept very much to herself, and not just because they couldn't see how delicious he was. Belle was well aware that the rest of the students in her chemistry class hated their teacher with a fiery passion, but she thought this was an unfair assessment. Yes, he was harsh. Yes, he graded ungenerously and would respond with biting sarcasm to anyone who got a question wrong, but she had learned more studying under him for the past couple of months than she had the previous three years, when she had been taught by Mr Tindall, a hapless man on the cusp of retirement who frequently slept through class and smelt suspiciously of whisky. He had left under something of a cloud at the end of the previous school year, much to Belle's relief. Any students thinking that Mr Gold's arrival would mean more of the same had been sorely disappointed.

Belle sighed as she pushed open the classroom door, hefting her bag of books on her shoulder. At least she wasn't late; Mr Gold was nowhere to be seen. Ruby's anxious face looked around, dark hair fanning out as she turned, and she gestured to a seat beside her.

"I didn't think you were going to make it," she whispered. "Where have you been? Rough night?"

"The worst," sighed Belle. "And Gold's going to flip his shit over the homework, I just know it."

"You'll be fine," said Ruby reassuringly. "It's only the second piece of work, and you did okay in the last one. He's not going to ride your ass for having an off-day."

"It was more than a bloody off-day," grumbled Belle, trying not to think about Mr Gold riding her, and failing miserably. She started pulling out books to hide her blush.

The quiet chatter of the other students died at the faint, clicking sound of Gold's cane in the corridor outside, and Belle and Ruby straightened up as he limped into the classroom.

"Settle down, all of you," he said coldly, although no one was moving around. Belle's heart sank at the look in his dark eyes when he swept them across the ranks of students. Any hope she had entertained of him not having marked the assignments died as he caught and held her gaze for a moment. He turned away, setting the battered black leather case he carried everywhere on the desk and opening it up, drawing out a sheaf of papers. Without a word he began walking around the classroom, dropping assignments onto students with a look of distaste on his features, as though they were coated in dung.

Ruby pulled an agonised face when hers landed in front of her with a large, red D minus scrawled across it. Belle sighed. Chemistry was one of Ruby's better subjects, but even she had struggled with the homework, it seemed. She waited for her own grade, but Mr Gold went on handing out papers and didn't come near her. She exchanged a curious, slightly panicky look with Ruby as he walked slowly up to the front of the classroom and turned to face them, hands folded over the gold handle of his cane. The silence in the room was deafening.

"So, you have your papers," he said quietly. "May I express my displeasure with the quality of this work? The general standard was appalling. Barely a third of you received a passing grade. Quite what you have been learning in the years before I arrived here eludes me."

Belle chewed her lip, wondering if she should draw herself to his attention. Curiosity over her grade won out, and she lifted her hand in the air somewhat nervously. Gold swung his eyes to her.

"Yes, Miss French?" he asked coldly, and Belle hesitated.

"Sir, you haven't - I mean, my assignment…" she faltered, and his mouth twitched.

"Ah, yes," he said, his voice soft, and somehow sinister. "See me after class, Miss French. My office."

He turned away, and Belle felt her stomach lurch at his evident disappointment. Ruby squeezed her hand sympathetically, but she found it hard to concentrate for the remainder of the class, despite knowing what it would mean when she came to do the next assignment. Sure enough, Gold gave them another lengthy piece of work to do, causing a few of the braver students to groan.

"Spare me your self-pity, Mr Nolan!" snapped Gold, glaring at one of the boys and causing him to sink lower in his seat. "If your dreadful grades won't motivate you to study for this class, perhaps I ought to start handing out detentions!"

That shut the class up, and they sat in silence as they copied down the assignment from the whiteboard. Belle sighed, rubbing her eyes. It looked as though she'd be working late into the night again.

"You may go," said Gold quietly, and the scrape of chairs was loud. Gold made his way from the classroom, not looking at any of them, and the noise level increased substantially.

"That bastard!" complained David Nolan, shoving his books into his bag with a bad grace. "Would it have killed him to ease up on us for a week? I have a ton of other stuff to do besides this - crap!" He threw his chemistry book down on the desk with a disgruntled look.

"Well, maybe you should have done the work, instead of winging it," remarked his girlfriend Mary, twitching a dark eyebrow at him, her own paper bearing a healthy C-plus. He pulled an amused face at her, and took her hand as they left the classroom, Mary shooting Belle a sympathetic look as she went. Belle started putting her books back in her bag, hoping that Gold wouldn't keep her long. She still had to prepare for her English class, and she had planned to spend most of the lunch hour in the library to finish off the work.

"I'll see you later?" said Ruby, shooting her a supportive smile. "Want to study tonight? I could come over, bring dinner."

"That would be fantastic," said Belle gratefully. "I'll see you after school, Rubes."

Ruby gave her a quick hug, whispered 'Don't let the bastard get to you', and ran off to lunch. Belle dragged her feet, the last to leave the classroom. Her stomach had been doing cartwheels ever since Mr Gold had turned his gaze on her with a fire she had not seen in him before. Was her paper really _that bad_? She had seen some of the grades that others had gotten. There wasn't anything _lower_ than an F, right? Unless he'd made up some new grade that meant that not only did you fail, but you also gave up any right to freedom and were condemned to a life of servitude in the school, cleaning toilets and refilling the vending machines.

Feeling gloomy, she turned into the corridor where Gold kept his office. She had never been in there before, and was feeling anxious. Why the hell hadn't she done the work for this stupid paper? She should have known how he'd react. Fretting, and nervously bouncing up and down on her toes, she knocked on his door.

"Come in."

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door, and closed it behind her, pushing it shut with her rear and leaning against it. Mr Gold was seated behind his desk, scribbling something.

"A moment, Miss French," he said dismissively, and Belle took the opportunity to look around his office. It was neat and clean, the room ringed with shelves holding a vast array of books. Belle was surprised to see that only one wall contained chemistry texts, the remainder being books on physics and mathematics, psychology, and an entire shelf of novels. She turned her head, trying the read the titles on the spines.

"Are you here to go through my entire library, Miss French?" Mr Gold's dry tone made her jump, and she turned to face him. He was sitting back in his chair, his pen placed on the papers in front of him. He had removed his jacket, and was clad in his suit pants and a black silk shirt, a waistcoat over the top of it. She had never seen him without the perfect armour of his three-piece suit before, and the sight of his silk-clad arms made her feel somewhat light-headed.

"Sorry," she said hurriedly, hoping she wouldn't start blushing. Sunlight was filtering through the window, shining on the brown hair that brushed his shoulders and fell around his face. She could see where his hair was greying, silver strands gleaming in the sun, and her belly clenched a little.

"You - asked me to come to your office, Mr Gold," she added, wishing he'd just get it over with, whatever he wanted.

"Indeed I did." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Please, Miss French, have a seat."

His voice was delicious, when it wasn't filled with rage. She loved his accent, somewhat softened from years in the US, as her own was. When he was teaching, when he was involved in a discussion of the subject he loved, his voice flowed over her like warm, liquid chocolate, making her want to listen to him forever. Now, however, it was cold, impassive. It scared her.

"You noticed that I didn't give you back your assignment," he said calmly. "Frankly, I was so disappointed in your obvious lack of preparation that I wanted to speak to you about it."

Belle hung her head. As she suspected. He dug in he pile of papers on his desk, pulling one out and slapping it on the polished wood Belle felt her insides squirm as she looked at the scrawls of red adorning the front page. She looked in vain for a grade.

"I didn't grade it," he said, voicing her thoughts. "Hence our discussion today. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Belle shrugged, feeling terrible, and his eyes narrowed.

"This is a hard class," he said evenly. "Whatever your previous teacher was like, and I assure you I've heard the rumours, I will insist on teaching you the material needed to pass, rather than letting you coast and then fail. I speak quickly, I ask you questions, and I expect you to answer. I also expect you to come to my class having done the required reading. I expect you to fully commit to your preparation and do your best in whatever work I choose to assign. In return I will make you a better student, do you understand?"

"I…" Belle tried to answer, but he talked over her.

"This – garbage," he threw her essay back at her. "Is fit only for being put through a shredder and ending up at the bottom of a hamster cage."

"I know," admitted Belle, and he looked surprised.

"Then why the bloody hell did you insult my intelligence by handing it in?" he demanded. "This was a complete waste of your time, and, therefore of mine."

"I had to hand in something!" she pleaded. "I know it was terrible, and I'm sorry! I just - I - no, I don't have an excuse." She looked down.

He was frowning at her, tapping his pen on the papers.

"You're a highly intelligent girl, Miss French," he said severely. "All your other teachers sing your praises. I know lack of ability when I see it. I don't see it in you. I believe that you are more than capable of producing excellent work, which means that, in _my_ class, you have chosen not to. Why is that, I wonder?"

Belle remained silent, trying not to fidget. His eyes raked her, looking her over as though he would somehow find the answers to her unsatisfactory performance in the cut of her shirt, the drape of her short skirt, the gleaming mahogany curls of her hair.

"Am I doing something wrong, as a teacher?" he asked then. "Are you finding it difficult to follow me in class, perhaps? Is it the accent?"

"Oh no!" she said hastily. "I love your accent, it makes me…" She cut off, blushing, and looked at her hands, fingers twisting around one another. The silence stretched and grew between them, and she felt the need to break it.

"I find you a little - distracting," she said softly, and looked up. He was watching her with a curious expression.

"Distracting," he echoed, and she shrugged uncomfortably.

"I mean, I like looking at you, and listening to you, and sometimes I get so caught up in doing that, that I don't take in a word you've said," she explained, getting cross at herself for her ridiculous schoolgirl crush. "Can you not be so - so…" She waved a hand up and down his form, and Gold looked puzzled.

"So what?" he asked, and Belle rolled her eyes.

"I have a bloody crush on you, okay?" she snapped. "Whenever you're talking about chemistry I'm thinking about what it might be like to have your hands on me and you kissing me and _obviously_ I don't get anything done because I'm too busy thinking about what you might look like naked, and..." She clapped a hand to her mouth in horror, eyes wide with disbelief over what she had let slip.

A twitch of Gold's eyebrow was the only indication that what she had said had surprised him, but she supposed that for him that was the equivalent of a major reaction. The corners of his lips curved upwards briefly, and she looked at her hands again, her stomach churning with humiliation. A quick glance upwards showed that he was still watching her, but there was something different about his gaze, his eyes appearing darker, an intensity hanging in the air around him that had not previously been there. He steepled his fingers, watching her over the top of them, his elbows resting on the desk in front of him.

"What am I to do with you?" he mused, almost to himself. He was threading his long fingers together, in and out, a tiny, whispery noise of skin against skin, and Belle felt her heart thump, tension rising within her. Slowly, he pushed his chair back, placing his hands carefully on the desk and pushing himself to his feet with elaborate care. She felt her breathing quicken as he drew himself up to his full height, looking down at her.

"Stand up, Miss French," he said softly, and Belle bit her lip nervously, opening and closing her hands a couple of times, unsure what he was doing.

"Stand up, Miss French," he repeated, a little more sternly, and she got to her feet on legs that were a little unsteady. He walked slowly towards her, running his eyes up and down her body, taking in the neat, fitted white shirt, the short black skirt that flared out over her legs, the long socks that came up over her knees and hugged her pale, slender thighs. Belle kept her gaze on the floor, and started as he slipped a gentle finger under her chin, raising her head to face him. She blinked rapidly, the fire in his eyes almost too much for her to bear, but he simply smiled.

"Beautiful," he whispered, and his thumb stroked across the pink fullness of her lower lip, his fingers fanning out across her smooth cheek. Belle could smell cologne on his fingers, sandalwood and ambergris, a hint of tobacco and sweet musk. It made her belly clench with desire for him, for the touch of his hands on her body. She could feel her heart beating, a throbbing sensation that seemed to spread down through her body until it reached her groin, a strong, rhythmic pulse. Gold smiled, a thin, wicked little grin, as though he knew exactly what she was feeling.

"Would you like me to kiss you?" he asked, and Belle licked her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue. His eyes darted to and fro, following its quick sweep with the intensity of a raptor.

"Yes," she whispered, and shuddered with pleasure as he used his hands to cup her face. He bent his head a little, his hair brushing her cheeks, his lips pressing against hers. Belle's eyes fluttered closed, marvelling at the soft feel of his mouth, gasping as his tongue gently parted her lips. He tasted of tea and rich, bitter chocolate, along with something sweet that she couldn't define. Having his tongue in her mouth was delicious, and she let out a tiny moan as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down her body to pull her to him at the waist.

Belle let out a breath as she pressed against him. It was her first real kiss; sure, she had had a few lip-bumps with guys, but nothing serious. Nothing that made her feel like this. In all of her sixteen years, she had never felt such burning intensity from being touched by another. She could feel Gold's body through his shirt, so different to hers, the hard planes of his chest flattening her breasts. She could feel the uncomfortable press of his belt buckle against her belly, and beneath it… She gasped into his mouth, her eyes flying open as she realised what was pushing up against her. Gold let her pull away a little, his fingers loose on her hips.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his accent thick, his voice rough. Belle nodded, leaning in to kiss him again, before he could think, before he could decide that this wasn't a good idea. His mouth met hers hungrily, his saliva wetting her lips, making them slippery, making her want to slide her hands beneath that fine silk he wore and touch his bare skin. His hands moved slowly up her body, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, and Belle drew her breath in sharply as he cupped her, gently squeezing. He smiled against her, pulling back a little to kiss along her jaw and down her neck. Belle moaned, clutching at him as his tongue swirled over her pulse point, making her writhe and shiver, making her see stars.

"How is that?" he whispered, his voice a low growl that vibrated through her, sinking into her body and settling between her legs. "Is that enough, Belle?"

She shook her head furiously, her fingers threading through his soft hair, holding him there, her body undulating against him. He sank his teeth into her, rubbing his thumbs across her hardened nipples through the shirt. She whimpered, wanting more from him, wanting him to touch her where she was hot and liquid and twitching with need. His hands slid down her body, moving over her hips as he kissed and nipped his way up her neck to her ear, his teeth gently tugging at the soft lobe.

"Turn around," he breathed. "Put your hands on the desk."

Belle shivered at his words, moving slowly on the balls of her feet, presenting him with her back. She missed the feel of him against her, but then his hand swept her hair to the side and he was kissing the back of her neck, and she groaned from the sensations, shudders running through her body as she bent forwards, placing the flat of her hands on his desk. She could feel his hands sliding over her rear, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor at her feet. He let out a deep, rumbling groan at the sight of her, her small, pert rear and the white cotton panties she was wearing. The feel of his fingers on the skin of her thighs was intoxicating, and she gasped as he slid one around her hips, reaching down the front of her panties. She knew she was wet, had been so for some time, and he groaned at the feel of her, fingers sliding in between her slick folds. Belle let out a cry as he touched her, nails scratching at the surface of the desk as her hands clenched involuntarily.

"God, you feel good!" he whispered, and began rubbing her in slow circles, his other hand siding back up to cup her breast. Belle pushed back against his hand, rocking her pelvis, trying to reach that blissful state that was just out of reach. When he pulled back she almost yowled in annoyance, but he was gone only for a moment, fingertips hooking over the waistband of her panties and pulling them down. She felt them brush against her calves as they hit the floor, and she stepped out of them, hearing the clink of his belt, the muted harshness of his zipper being drawn down. Her heart was pounding, her cheeks flushed, and his hands slid over her hips, sliding around between her legs, brushing against her nether lips.

"Spread your legs, my sweet," he said softly, and she obeyed, biting her lip as he touched her, as he stepped closer, so that he was pressed up against her. The smooth wool of his suit pants was soft against the skin of her buttocks, the metal belt-buckle cold and hard until he moved it aside, and then she felt _him_ , pressing in between her legs, rubbing along her wet folds.

"Oh!" she breathed, as one of his hands moved to hold himself, to rub his length against her. It felt different to his fingers, smooth and hard and hot, and she bucked her hips against him as he settled into a rhythm, hitting the tiny bud of her clit with every pass, making her moan and writhe and dig her nails into the polished wood of the desk. She could feel tension building in her body, her muscles tightening, her arms shaking with the effort of holding herself up, of keeping herself there while he thrust and slipped and slid against her, never entering her. Blood was pounding in her ears, the flush spreading from her face and down her neck, sweat beading on her forehead, her breath coming in pants. A moan was pulled from her as she neared release.

" _That's_ it, Belle!" he whispered. "Let it come, sweetheart."

Light burst behind Belle's eyes as she came with a loud wail, her hips bucking against him, and she fell forwards onto the desk as her body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing through her. He had pulled back when she came, but she felt his fingers there again, dipping into her to feel her muscles twitch as she jerked. The feel of a part of him inside her was incredible, and she felt the loss as he withdrew them, stepping back from her and stroking her hair gently.

"Good girl," he said roughly, his accent thick. " _Very_ good girl. Can you stand?"

She pushed herself upright on arms that wobbled, and turned to face him, her eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy, her cheeks burning. He bent to kiss her, his mouth soft against her swollen lips, and his hand reached down between her legs, gently stroking against her tender flesh and pulling another moan from her. Breaking the kiss, he lifted glistening fingers to his mouth, slipping them inside and tasting her creamy fluid with a low noise of enjoyment, his eyes closing momentarily. Belle watched him, trying to catch her breath, her heart still thumping hard in her chest. His tongue licked the last of her flavour from his hand, and then he was reaching for her, fingers sliding into her hair, spreading the scent of her pleasure. She could taste her arousal on his lips when he kissed her, finding it strange, but not entirely unpleasant. Nevertheless, she was relieved when he pulled back, his eyes running over her face.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, and she nodded.

"I think so," she confirmed. "That was – I've never felt anything like that before."

"Hmm." He brushed a curl of hair back from her face, his thumb sliding across her lower lip, pulling it down and gently slipping the thumb inside the soft wetness of her mouth. Belle ran her tongue over it, tasting her own salt and musk. Experimentally, she sucked on his thumb, and he growled in pleasure, pushing her back against the table so that she could feel the hard length of him pressed against her belly. He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her skin, the scent of him surrounding her.

"I want to fuck you, little Belle," he whispered. "I want to slide right up inside that sweet little cunt of yours and fuck you until you scream."

Belle shivered, the crudeness of his words shooting through her, making her abdomen clench and pull. She nodded, and a twisted smile lifted one corner of his mouth as he turned away from her and reached in the drawer of his desk. Belle closed her eyes, leaning heavily on the desk, listening to the rustle and squeak of plastic being torn. Dimly, she was aware of him putting on a condom, and then she felt him take her hand, pull her with him on her wobbly legs to his chair. He sat down, drawing her to him so that she straddled him, her long, pale legs sliding along his outer thighs, her breasts pushing against his chest. He reached between her legs once more, stroking her, spreading her juices, and she felt the hard, blunt head of him sliding through her folds. She bit her lip as he brushed over her clit, her eyes closing at the pleasure of it, and then he shifted slightly, pushing against the tender opening below.

She watched his face as he pushed slowly inside her, the way his eyes closed and his jaw clenched and tightened, the way a muscle twitched in his cheek and he let out a rumbling gasp as he slid all the way in. He felt incredible, stretching her, filling her, and she clung onto his shoulders, taking a few shallow, panting breaths as she adjusted to this new sensation.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, and she nodded, focusing on the knot of his tie. For some strange reason, the fact that he was fully dressed apart from where he was buried within her made her want to laugh. He slid a finger beneath her chin, gently raising her head.

"Look at me, Belle," he whispered, and she lifted her eyes, meeting his, staring into their dark depths. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her a little closer, and he began a slow, rhythmic rocking motion, still staring at her, his free hand cupping her cheek as he thrust in and out of her. Belle let her lips part, enjoying the feel of him moving inside her, of the way she gripped him tightly and the friction caused by her fluids and the dark curls of his hair rubbing up against her.

"That's good," she breathed, and he smiled, kissing her gently, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his hand sinking into her hair and pulling her closer as they rocked together.

Belle could feel the tension building in him, the same, strange tightening of the muscles that she had experienced, his body working itself up into a frenzy. His jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck straining as his movements quickened, and he reached down between them, to the wet heat where their bodies joined, his fingertip finding the hard pearl of her clit and rubbing circles around it. Belle moaned, increasing the pace of their movements, sensations building and growing within her until it felt as though she would burst. Her second climax made her want to weep, and she threw her head back with a cry as it broke through her, a wave of pleasure blinding her. Dimly, she was aware of his hand moving, of his grip tightening on her hips and rocking her faster and faster.

Gold came with a shout, and she felt him pulse inside her, his head rolling back, eyes closed, panting for breath. She had never seen him lose control before, and the sheer joy on his face when he opened his eyes and looked at her was riveting. He kissed her hungrily, hands cupping her face, tongue sweeping her mouth to catch every last taste of her, and she kissed him back as she felt him soften within her and slip from her body. His lips pulled at hers as he ended the kiss, and he relaxed back in the chair with a grunt of contentment. Belle let her head fall forwards onto his shoulder, and he slipped his arms around her as they rested for a moment.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, and she nodded, although it was a lie. The cold light of day was making itself felt, and she was starting to fret. She pulled out of his arms, sliding from his lap to look around for her underwear.

"I should go," she said, not looking at him. "I have class soon, and I didn't eat lunch yet." She pulled on her panties, zipped up her skirt and smoothed the front of her shirt as best she could. Her entire body seemed to be thrumming with pleasure and mixed emotions, and she brushed her hair out of her face with hands that shook.

"Belle." His voice was soft, a gentle caress that she had never heard before. She didn't want it. She didn't want to hear that this had been a bad idea, that he shouldn't have touched her, that it was a moment of weakness, that it would be best if they didn't speak of this again.

"I have to go," she muttered, and grabbed her books, pushing out of his office and making her way along the corridor on legs that threatened to collapse beneath her.

Gold fastened his pants with a sigh, running hands over his face, inhaling the sweetness of her scent. She had been utter heaven in his arms, their bodies fitting together perfectly, a wonderful closeness between them. Whatever he had done to make her bolt, he would have to undo. He had no intention of letting her think that any of this was her fault. The blame was his entirely; he had well and truly crossed every line, and he doubted there was enough penance in the world to redeem him.

* * *

 **A/N: please don't kill me.**


	2. Redemption

**A/N: Mr-r-gold was not at all pleased with the first part, and demanded that I write a second. As a bunch of other people that I actually like wanted the same, I capitulated. Enjoy feasting on the tattered shreds of my integrity, much as my nemesis does.**

* * *

Gold had never felt so guilty in his life.

Oh, he had done some reprehensible things in his time, to be sure, but never anything like this. He had destroyed rivals and undermined colleagues without a second thought. This, however, was a new low for him. The corruption of an innocent. Remorse hung low on him, a dank, heavy cloud that pressed down, invading his thoughts, stealing his rest. He knew that an apology was in order, if he could ever find the words to make up for what he'd done. He was pretty sure the florist didn't have a bouquet that said 'sorry I abused my power and took your virginity'. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the florist's shop open for weeks. Following his encounter with Belle, he had waited in his office for the rest of the day, hoping that she would come back, but he had waited in vain and had not seen her since. When she failed to turn up for class the next day, he began to worry.

"Where is Miss French?" he asked the Lucas girl, after the class had started work on the problem he had set, and she gave him a level look, shrugging.

"She's sick," she said, and turned back to her books. Gold felt his guilt increase ten-fold, and added to that he was now worried for her health. He resolved to apologise in person, let her know that what had happened had been his fault entirely, that she needn't fear returning to class, that she would be free of his perverse attentions.

He found out her address from the school office, driving over there after eight that evening. It was late to be making a social call on a student, but this way he hoped to avoid any of her friends. It was going to be difficult enough to explain why he was there, assuming her parents were home. He realised that he knew little about the girl he had been obsessing over since arriving in Storybrooke. She had caught his eye since walking into his classroom, her bright-eyed beauty like a balm to his soul. She was also highly intelligent, which was why he had been so incredibly disappointed in her performance in his class. He had known something was going on with her; she had seemed increasingly withdrawn, her vivacity fading over the past couple of months. He had not thought to ask why, and hated himself for it.

He pulled up across the street from the small, neat house, running his eyes over the old pear tree in the yard and the porch painted in sea-green. His hands clutched the wheel as he debated whether to call and let her know he was outside, or just to knock on the door and hope she answered. His fingers drummed the rim of the wheel, and he looked up sharply as the front door opened. He watched the Lucas girl leave, turning on her heel to throw her arms around Belle, who hugged her fiercely, a tired smile lighting up her beautiful face. She was well enough to be up and about, then. That was something.

Miss Lucas left, books under her arm, waving to Belle as she set off down the street, and Gold waited for ten minutes before getting out of the car and making his way slowly across the street, leaning heavily on his cane. He hesitated outside the door, fist raised, and told himself not to be such a fucking coward. He knocked twice, the sound strangely loud to his heightened senses. He could see movement, a flash of dark blue, and she pulled open the door.

"Did you forget..?" She cut off at the sight of him, the smile dying on her face, and pulled back, dropping her eyes.

"Mr Gold," she said uncomfortably.

"Hey," he said gently. "I - Belle, I think we need to talk."

Without a word, she held open the door, standing aside to let him through. She was wearing a dark blue shirt above jeans and ballet pumps, a red belt at her small waist. Her hair was tied up on top of her head in a loose knot, slender dark strands twisting free to curl around her face, and his heart leapt at the sight of her.

"You'd better come into the kitchen," she said, and turned from him, leading him through to a small but practical kitchen, the surfaces clean and the cupboards painted white. Without a word, she began filling a kettle for tea, her back to him. The silence grew and thickened, tugging at him.

"Miss Lucas said you were sick," he ventured, and she turned, folding her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow.

"Are you here to put me on report, Mr Gold?" she asked wryly. "Assign a detention, perhaps?"

"Of course not." He scanned her face for a hint of her emotions, but she was giving nothing away. "I wanted to make sure you were alright, that's all."

"I'm fine," she muttered, and turned to take a box of teabags from the cupboard, stretching up on her toes to reach it.

"Are your parents at home?" he asked, and she stiffened slightly.

"Mum died a few years ago," she said. "There's only me and Dad now."

"I'm sorry, Belle." An empty platitude, but it seemed to fall from his mouth automatically, and he hated himself for it.

"Why? You didn't kill her." She was equally unimpressed, it seemed. She started taking cups from the cupboard, setting them on the board in front of her and getting out the milk. The silence grew, its weight uncomfortably heavy, pressing on his skin from every angle, and she leant on the kitchen counter, her shoulders hunched, stiff. Her head dropped a little, a soft exhalation sighing from her.

"I won't say anything, you know," she said quietly. "If that's why you're here. I didn't even tell Ruby."

"No, that's - that's not why I'm here." He lifted a hand, let it fall against his leg with a soft, helpless smack. He wished she'd look at him. "Belle, I can't apologise enough for the way I acted, it was indefensible."

She turned to face him slowly, her arms folded around herself protectively, watching him suspiciously. He tried again.

"You have every right to be furious with me," he went on. "I have absolutely no excuse. If you wanted to report me I wouldn't blame you."

She was looking at him steadily.

"What exactly are you apologising for?" she asked, and he blinked.

"I - took advantage of you," he said, surprised at her reaction. "I abused my position of power for my own pleasures. It was unforgivable."

She sniffed, turning back to the kettle, which was now boiling. "Okay. So of _course_ I'm incapable of making my _own_ decisions. It was all _you_. Right. Stupid little girl who has no clue what she wants, hmm?"

He was a little taken-aback. "Belle, I'm an adult, I'm responsible for…"

She whirled on her heel, cutting him off with a glare, and opened her mouth furiously, but at that moment there was a muffled tinkle from above, and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, her expression suddenly worried.

"Wait here," she said, and strode from the room, heading for the stairs.

He waited for a minute or so, but then curiosity got the better of him, and he made his way quietly up the stairs. He could hear the muffled sound of voices coming from one of the bedrooms, and walked softly towards it.

"Do you want the bottle, papa?" Belle's voice. A rustle of bedclothes. "There! I'll take that out of the way, and you can get some rest."

Gold edged nearer the door, feeling as though he shouldn't be there, but unable to do the decent thing and sneak back downstairs.

"I want you to get some sleep tonight," Belle was saying. "You should take two of your pills. There, drink that. Okay?"

"I don't like making work for you, princess." A man's voice, weak. Gold stopped at the bedroom door. Belle was plumping pillows and drawing a blanket up over the figure of a man, lying in the bed. He had the pinched, drawn look of someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short space of time, his eyes glassy and hollow.

"It's not work, you know that," Belle insisted. "Now get some proper rest. I don't want to hear a peep out of you before morning."

The room stank of sickness, a sweet, cloying scent that made Gold's nostrils flare and burn. He wondered if Belle still smelt it. He was about to pull back into the darkness of the landing, when the man's eyes met his, widening with sudden fear.

"Who's that, Belle?" he asked querulously, and Belle looked around, eyes narrowing as she saw Gold in the doorway.

"Papa, that's just Mr Gold, my teacher," she said soothingly, turning back to her father and putting a hand over his. "He came to make sure I was okay, that's all."

"You missed school again." Her father was clearly distressed. "I'm sorry, angel, you shouldn't have to do this…"

"Hush!" said Belle sternly. "Mr Gold isn't going to punish me because I have to care for you."

Her words made Gold cringe. He had thought it would be impossible to feel any worse about what he had done, but she was killing him with every pointed comment. She tucked the blankets around her father, standing up and draping dirty sheets over her arm.

"Goodnight, papa," she said lovingly, and bent to kiss his cheek, turning off the lamp. Gold stood aside as she came past him, and she jerked her head at him, indicating that he should follow her. She shoved the sheets into the laundry hamper on the landing, and opened the door to one of the other bedrooms. He followed her in, noting that it must be her room. Books lined the walls, one or two lying on the bed, which was covered with a powder-blue throw. She turned to him, hands on hips, and he shook his head.

"Belle, why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked softly, and she sighed, looking away.

"Ruby knows," she said. "And Emma."

"You should have told the school," he said, and she rolled her eyes.

"What would be the point?" she asked. "No one can do anything, and I can't bear their pity."

"And compassion?" he asked, his voice gentle. Her lower lip wobbled.

"I don't have time for that," she said stiffly. "I remember how it was when Mum died. People treat you as thought you have some kind of disease that might be catching. They don't know what to say and nor do I."

There was silence for a moment. She fidgeted, running her hand nervously up and down the pale length of her arm. He wanted to hold her, to take her in his arms and tell her it was going to be alright. Even though it wasn't. He thought of the man he had seen in the other room, the hollow shell of a once solid, supportive presence in her life.

"He's been like this for a while now, hasn't he?" he said, and she shrugged.

"He got worse over the summer," she admitted. "Four months or so. We had to close the shop."

"Have you no help?" He felt useless, impotent, and she simply looked at him as though he was stupid, this beautiful, brave young girl with the heart of a lion.

"He had insurance," she said, rubbing her eye tiredly. "It's almost gone. He'll need - I know he'll need morphine, when - at the end. I wanted to save what was left for that, so he wouldn't be in pain." She looked down again, chewing her lip.

"You shouldn't take all of this on yourself," he said, and she glared at him.

"And who else should do it?" she demanded, hands on hips. "He's my father! It's unlikely he'll see Christmas. I want to spend as much time with him as I can."

His mouth worked as he tried to think of something to say that didn't sound trite. She seemed to take pity on him, turning away to pick the books up off the bed.

"Look, I appreciate you coming over," she said. "But I'm fine, really. He's had a bad few nights, that's all. He'll sleep through tonight, and hopefully have a better day tomorrow."

He nodded, hesitating, realising they still hadn't addressed the issue of what had happened between the two of them.

"Belle, about yesterday…" he began, and she sighed.

"I told you, I won't tell anyone. Our secret, right?"

"That's not what concerns me," he said gently. She was looking at the floor, impossibly small and fragile, and he wanted desperately to touch her, to remind himself that she was real. "Belle, please talk to me. What is it?"

"Forget about it. It doesn't even matter," she said dully.

"It matters a great deal," he said calmly, and she threw up her hands, eyes flashing as she turned to him.

"I just wanted to _forget_ ," she said insistently. "For an hour, just an hour, I wanted to be _me_. I wanted to think about nothing but _you_ , about the way you were touching me, the way you were making me feel, that was it. No cancer, no - no _death_. Just _us_."

He stared at her, and she met his gaze, her chest heaving. Hesitantly, he reached out to her, brushing her smooth cheek with the back of his hand, and she leaned into his touch, reaching up to cover his hand with hers and hold it to her.

"Belle," he whispered, and she nuzzled against his hand, her lips brushing his fingertips. Her eyes flicked open, watching him, and he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to breathe.

"Stay with me," she said softly. "Please - I don't want to be alone."

He should have been stronger. He should have been better. He should have told her that he would call Miss Lucas and have her come over, that he would arrange a nurse to sit with her father, so that she could rest. He should have done anything but what he did, which was to take a step forwards, let his cane fall to the floor, stroke his hands over her cheeks, and press his lips to hers.

Belle moaned, opening for him, and he could taste her sweetness, his tongue sliding into her mouth, gently caressing her. His fingers slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull, and she pressed herself against him, hands sliding up his back and tugging him close. He could feel himself hardening already, her perfume filling his head, her body soft and warm against his, but he didn't pull away. If she wanted to forget, if she wanted to let her mind drift and simply experience pleasure, it was the least he could do for her. He broke the kiss, trailing his mouth across her jaw and down her neck, his tongue darting out, flicking across the sensitive spot below her left ear. He felt her shiver, a delicious little twitching of her body, a soft sigh, and he slid his hands down to pluck at the tiny buttons of her shirt. They were hard to undo, and he pulled back for a moment, resting his forehead against hers as he deftly unfastened them. Belle's breath was cool on his face, her eyes dark in the low light as she watched him.

"I don't have any protection, Belle," he said softly, and she bit her lip.

"It's okay, I have some in my nightstand. Ruby's always insisted on giving me them, like I'm about to jump a guy any minute. I never needed them until now."

"Miss Lucas is a good friend," he breathed, and kissed her again, sliding his hands inside the shirt and over her smooth skin, pushing the shirt from her shoulders and down her arms. She let her arms fall to her sides, the shirt sliding off her to hit the floor, and he stared at her, at the small, pale mounds of her breasts in the plain black bra she wore. He bent to kiss her, his mouth pressing against the soft skin of her throat, moving down over the top of her chest. Her fingers sank into his hair, her breath catching as he kissed her nipple through the soft cotton, and he slid his hands around her back, unhooking her bra. The garment loosened, and he gently lifted one small black cup away from her, exposing the firm, creamy swell of her breast. He pulled the bra from her, and her arms twitched upwards as though she wanted to cover herself. He caught her wrists, gently pulling them down.

"Let me kiss them," he whispered. "You're beautiful, sweetheart."

He bent his head to her, his mouth finding the taut pink peak of her nipple, and Belle gasped, fingers sinking into his hair as he suckled at her. His hands slipped to her waist, pulling her close, and she rose up on her toes, arching her back, her head falling back as his tongue swirled in slow circles. He kissed his way across to the other breast, enjoying the feel of her breath growing shallower, her fingers twisting in his hair. His grip moved, sliding over her rear and squeezing, and she let out a tiny moan as he left her breasts, trailing his lips up to her throat, gently sinking his teeth into her and making her writhe.

He pulled back with a smile, brushing loose strands of hair back from her face. She was flushed, her lips full and red, her eyes sparkling with lust, and he stroked her cheeks tenderly, his fingers running up over her scalp to the knot on top of her head. He pulled the pins from it, fingers threading through the twist of chestnut hair, letting it fall, parting the curls so that they fell around her shoulders. The dark hair framed her face beautifully, and he gently cupped her cheeks, staring at her for a moment, gazing into her wide blue eyes, as dark and deep as undersea caverns. She bit her lip, white teeth digging into the soft, dark pink flesh, and he felt his loins twitch at the sight of it. He wanted to take that lip between his own teeth, to suck it in between his lips, to taste her.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, and she nodded, pushing at the lapels of his jacket.

"This needs to go," she said, blushing slightly, and he smiled, nodding. He let her unfasten the jacket and waistcoat, small, slender fingers plucking at the buttons, until she could push back the smooth wool, the jacket sliding from his shoulders. He shrugged them off, draping them over the back of a chair and turning back to her. She had unfastened her belt, kicking off her flat shoes, and he nodded to the bed. Still blushing, she climbed on, unfastening her jeans and peeling them off her legs. He watched her do it, his heart clenching as inch after inch of pale, perfect skin was revealed, Belle carefully folding the jeans and placing them on the floor beside the bed.

She turned to the drawer of the nightstand, rummaging around in it, and he heard the crackle of plastic as she found what she was looking for. She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, her thin arms around them, watching him as he unfastened his belt. Her hair had fallen forward a little, hiding her face, and he longed to brush it back, to see her beauty. He unfastened his pants, and her eyes flicked over him, running across his thin chest and the smooth plane of his stomach. He didn't want her to see his ankle, the ugly lumps of badly-healed bones, the scars where the metal pins had gone. He took the pants off quickly, draping them over the back of the chair with his jacket, and limped to the bed in his underwear. She knelt up as he approached, sitting back on her heels a little, suddenly shy, her eyes flicking up to his and then back down, roaming over the lightly-tanned skin of his chest. Meeting her gaze and holding it, he reached out gently, stroking her hair back, revealing her wide eyes, her full lips, the soft curve of her smooth cheeks. Her eyes fluttered shut as his fingers touched her, the sooty crescents of her dark lashes lying against her cheeks.

"What do you want, Miss French?" he asked quietly, and she looked up briefly before staring at the bedspread once more.

"Kiss me, Mr Gold," she whispered, and he shifted closer, bending his head to hers, his lips pushing hers apart, his tongue slipping slowly into her mouth. She reached up hesitantly to touch him, the tips of her fingers delicious on his naked skin. He groaned as she ran her thumbs across his hardened nipples, her touch sending a shiver through him. His hands grasped her hips, and he gently pushed her backwards onto the bed, Belle rolling with him as he fell onto his side, pulling her close against him. He deepened the kiss, revelling in the taste of her, in the feel of her tongue gently touching his. His hand slid down her body, dipping into the hollow of her waist and stroking over the smooth curve of her hip, and his fingertips slid beneath the waistband of her panties, brushing against the curls of her hair. He pushed a little further, fingers sliding in between her legs, and Belle whimpered into his mouth as he stroked her, coating his fingers with her juices, getting her ready. He slipped a finger inside her, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles over the bud of her clit, and Belle clutched at his shoulders, gently biting his lower lip, pressing her pelvis against his hand.

Slowly, he lowered her back, until she was lying on the bed, his body half over hers, his hand still between her legs, continuing its slow, rhythmic stroking of her. He brushed her hair back with his free hand, his tongue gently stroking. He could feel her climax building, could feel her muscles tighten, her body rise up into him as she started to moan quietly. Her cheeks were heating, sweat forming on her upper lip as he worked her, and she suddenly wrenched her mouth from his and thrust herself into his hand with a soft cry, pumping her hips against him as she came. New wetness bathed his hand, and he groaned his appreciation at her reaction, kissing down her neck, taking a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucking on it as she caught her breath, her fingers twisting in his hair.

When he gently withdrew his hand and pushed himself up on his elbows, she was panting, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

"Alright?" he asked quietly, and she nodded vigorously.

He kissed her gently, wet fingers pushing a stray curl back from her face.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"I want you to stay," she whispered. "I want more – if you do."

"Oh, Belle!" he breathed, and began kissing down her body, his hands cupping her small breasts, his lips and fingers plucking at her nipples. Belle gasped, wriggling at the sensations, her hands sinking into his hair again, and he shifted onto his knees, straightening up and slowly sliding her panties down her legs, exposing her to his gaze. He threw the tiny garment to the side, and Belle drew her knees up instinctively, her cheeks reddening. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, putting gentle hands on her knees, slowly parting them, kissing his way down her inner thigh. The muscles in her legs twitched at his touch, Belle's breath quickening, and he slid his hand along her other thigh, pressing it outwards a little more as he neared his goal.

Soft, dark hair hid the deep blush of her sex, moisture gleaming on her folds. He curled his hand around to spread the curls, inhaling her scent as he kissed the smooth skin at the top of her inner thigh. Belle caught her breath, her fingers slipping to tangle in his hair once more. His lips trailed gently across, kissing her outer lips.

"Oh!" she breathed, and he grinned. If she wanted to forget, he would do his best to help her.

He pressed his lips against her, letting her feel the warmth of his skin, then slowly and very gently, let his tongue slip out and sweep along her folds. Belle arched her back with a cry as he licked her, and he felt himself harden in response, the flavour of her exploding across his tongue. She tasted incredible, sweet and salty, a little like coconut milk, and he buried his nose in her curls, breathing in her musk, her pheromones, his tongue swirling in circles around the tiny bundle of nerves that he knew would drive her wild. Belle's fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at it, the pain in his scalp a delightful distraction from what his tongue was doing to her. He slowly slipped his other hand up her leg, reaching down between them, slipping a finger inside her as he licked her. Belle moaned, her thighs gripping the sides of his head, her body rocking against his mouth, and he slid a second finger into her, the tip of his tongue flickering across her clit. Her breath was coming in pants, almost whistling through her lungs, her body rising and falling as she moved against him, and he could feel it building within her, her body tightening and tensing, her fingers pulling and tugging, and all at once she broke with a shriek of pleasure, falling back into the bedclothes, her body jerking with her orgasm.

He groaned with pleasure as he felt her hot fluids bathe his tongue, pressing his lips to her entrance, sliding his tongue inside and drinking her down. Belle continued to let out tiny moans as he tasted her, his tongue seeking out every last drop of her bliss. Her grip on his hair loosened, and he pulled back to tug off his underwear, kneeling up and looking down at her as she drew her knees up, running her hands over her abdomen as she made tiny, contented noises. She was still breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed, her lips full and dark where she had bitten them. God, she was fucking beautiful! He leant forward, retrieving the condom from where she had dropped it on the coverlet, and the rustle of plastic made her open her eyes and look at him.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently, and she smiled, a slow, warm, lazy smile, pushing herself up on her elbows and flicking her hair back.

"That was amazing," she said softly, and nodded at the condom. "Yes. It's okay, I want to."

He ripped it open, his cock hard, clear fluid already weeping from it in his excitement at her arousal. He rolled the condom on carefully, meeting her eyes, loving the fire in them as she watched him. Belle reached for him, and he pushed forwards, parting her thighs with his body, pushing her gently down onto the bed.

"Belle…" he whispered, and she shook her head, running her hands up over his chest.

"Please!" she breathed, and he reached down between them, taking himself in hand and guiding his way. She bit down on his shoulder as he entered her, her nails digging into his back. He threw his head back with a loud groan as he sank all the way into her, her body opening to him, her flesh clinging to him even as her own excitement eased his way. He meant to be gentle. He meant to take it slowly. He was buried within her and he wanted to stay that way forever, surrounded by her heat and her scent and with the taste of her still in his mouth. But then she flicked open her eyes and looked up at him, catching the soft swell of her lower lip between her teeth, and he was gone.

He drew back a little, thrusting into her with a moan, making her cry out and clutch at him. She pulled her knees up, allowing him to push even deeper, to fill her completely, and he kissed her messily, hands pushing her hair back from her face as he moved, as he pounded into her. He was _covered_ in her, her scent all over him, her skin as soft as silk and her legs gripping his hips and her nails scoring his back and it was _incredible_. He wasn't going to last, he knew it. He tried to pull back, to slow things down, to draw it out, but he was too far gone, lost in the feel of her, and she held onto him so that he couldn't pull away, instinctively lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. Desperately, he reached down between them, his fingers feeling out the wet, slippery place where they joined. He could feel the thickness of his own cock, pushing in and out of her, and somehow that excited him even more than the feel of her around him. He rubbed at her clit, making her cry out in pleasure, making her grind against him, hoping that it would be enough to take her with him, because he knew he was coming.

He climaxed hard, groaning her name, feeling himself pulse deep within her, thrusting as he did so, and Belle wailed as she clenched around him, her walls pulling at him, trying to draw him deeper. He continued to pump his hips, loving the feel of her, enjoying her fingers digging into the hollow of his spine and her teeth nipping at his shoulder as she tried to stifle her cries. They gradually stilled, their movements slowing, their gasps for breath interspersed with soft, wet kisses. He pulled his hand from in between them, soaked with her fluids, sucking them from his fingers before kissing her again, and let his head fall onto her shoulder with a grunt of satisfaction. Belle swept her hands up his back, one stroking his hair while the other drew circles on his shoulder blade.

"Whoa," she said breathlessly, and he smiled.

"Yes."

She shifted slightly, and he pushed himself up, worried that he was hurting her. He was softening within her, and he reached down to grasp the condom as he withdrew. Belle touched his face with her hand, cupping his cheek, her thumb running over his lower lip as she looked up at him. He held his breath, scared that she would push him away, say that it was a mistake, say that she intended to report him. Instead she smiled.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he returned the smile.

"Did that help you forget your troubles for a moment?" he asked gently, and she chuckled.

"For a while there I forgot my own _name_ ," she said, amused. "I can see why Ruby raves about it." She sighed contentedly, stroking his hair, parting the strands between her fingers as she studied him. It felt nice.

"We're in a lot of trouble, aren't we?" she said sadly, and he heaved a breath, his mouth twisting.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he said sincerely, and she shook her head.

"Forget it, I don't want to think about it," she said tiredly. "Please, just stay here with me tonight. I don't care what kind of crap you have to make up if someone stops you in the street tomorrow."

He sighed again, but nodded, and kissed her, rolling to the side and pulling her tight against him. When had life gotten so wonderfully, tragically messy?

* * *

 **A/N: *wipes brow* that is the toughest thing I have written. I was literally screaming at one point. Still, penance paid. I hope you enjoyed it.**


	3. Abstinence

**A/N: Yeaahhhh, so, apparently I can't stop writing this…**

 **The Squick Demon has a lot to answer for.**

 **Anonymousnerdgirl prompted: "** **Gold resolves to do right by Belle, he pays for a nurse and sets Belle up with an itinerant tutor so she can stay abreast of her education and stay with Moe." There is actually more to the prompt, but that's next chapter ;)**

* * *

Gold slept better than he had in years.

Waking early was something that came naturally to him, but he was disorientated when he first struggled up into consciousness, and his senses tried to interpret the differences. The room was unusually light, for one, the sunlight filtering through thin, pale blue curtains. There was more noise coming in through the windows than he was used to; a garbage truck trundled by, waste collectors shouting to one another, the tinkle of glass and the clang of metal. There was also a wonderful warmth pressed up against his body, a scent of sweet musk and roses drifting through to his brain, and he stretched slightly, inhaling deeply, The warm presence beside him moved, and his eyes flicked wide open. He was spooned around Belle, his chest pressed up against her naked back, his arm around her waist, his nose pushed into her soft hair. It had been a very, very long time since he'd woken up to company, and he smiled contentedly, a twitching in his groin indicating his interest, despite being half-asleep. Slowly, he slid his hand across the flat of her belly, and she sighed and muttered, still dozing. A thin film of perspiration made their skin slick where their bodies touched, and he pulled back slightly, kissing the back of her shoulder, breathing in her scent. His cock, already in its usual early-morning semi-erect state, hardened further, and his hand crept lower, thumb brushing over the hollow of her navel, fingers sliding into the soft curls between her thighs, touching warmth and wetness.

Belle awoke slowly, the dawn light a pleasant glow against her closed eyelids, the feel of a warm pressure against her back. The events of the previous evening burst into her head, rendering her fully awake and alert, and she gasped as Gold's hand inched lower, touching her where she remembered feeling him, buried deep. She put her hand on his, and he froze immediately.

"Hey," she said sleepily, and felt his hair tickle the back of her neck as he kissed her shoulder.

"Hey," he rumbled, doing terrible things to her willpower. "Are you alright?"

Belle rolled her eyes, his words irritating her, as though she would somehow _not_ be alright, as though he was, once more in his mind, guilty of taking advantage of her. As though she had no mind and no will of her own.

"I'm not made of glass," she said shortly, and made to pull away from him, but he tightened his soft grip around her.

"I just meant, do you feel alright, after last night?" he asked gently. "I don't want to hurt you, Belle."

She sighed, turning in his arms to face him. His scent surrounded her, the faint woodiness of cologne and his own smell, a wonderfully male, musky fragrance that made her belly clench and her heart beat a little faster. The light shining through the thin curtains picked out the lines around his eyes and mouth, and she reached up, brushing his hair back, exposing the silvery strands at his temple, feeling the rasp of his stubble against her palm. His eyes watched her, the colour of strong tea, bright and anxious, flicking over her face for a sign of her feelings.

"You didn't hurt me," she said softly. "It was amazing. It was everything I needed."

He brushed her hair back, leaning in to kiss her. She opened her mouth for him, letting his tongue caress hers, moaning a little as his hands slid over her body, one moving down her back to cup her rear and pull her closer. She could feel him swelling against her belly, and she was more than interested in resuming their late-night activities, but she had things to do. He pulled away immediately when she stiffened in his arms, and she dropped her eyes.

"I have to check on my dad," she muttered, and turned away from him.

She could feel him watching as she threw back the covers, and it made her itch between the shoulder-blades. She was unused to being observed when she was naked, and she quickly pulled on a robe while she dug in her drawers for clean underwear. The silence grew as she pulled on her panties with her back to him, beneath the bathrobe. She had been lying somewhat when she had said she wasn't hurt; her body ached deliciously, unused to his attentions. Her belly crawled with desire, remembering the events of the previous evening, but the cold light of day had made her shy. She straightened, pulling jeans over her hips and buttoning them.

"I don't want him seeing you here," she said, with her back to him.

"Of course," he said, after a pause that seemed to last an eternity. "The last thing I want to do is…" He sighed, the rough exhalation of his breath vibrating through her body and making her want him all over again.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and it was _her_ turn to sigh, throwing off the robe and pulling a clean shirt out of her drawers. She pulled on her bra and fastened it in a trice, tugging on the shirt. Her finger=s trembled a little as she buttoned it. She could smell him on her hands; she was covered with him, and she wondered if her father would sense it.

"You don't have to be sorry," she said wearily. "I told you that. Just - I don't want him upset by something he wouldn't understand."

He let out a soft chuckle. "I'm not at all certain _I_ understand it," he remarked, and for some reason she felt a flare of annoyance.

"You can let yourself out, right?" she said shortly, and stomped out of the bedroom.

Gold groaned, falling back in the bed and putting an arm over his eyes. He could hear her opening her father's door, the muffled sound of her falsely bright voice. He pushed back the bedclothes, heavy with the scent of her, and looked around for his clothes.

He managed to creep down the stairs without coming across Belle or, heaven forbid, her father, let himself out of the house very carefully, and straightened up, walking down the steps of her house and closing the small gate behind him.

"Mr Gold!" A cheerful voice made him start, and he turned with a scowl to face the red-haired school psychologist, Dr Archie Hopper. The man was wearing a yellow-checked scarf over a green waistcoat and tweed suit, and Gold couldn't decide if he was colour-blind, oblivious to fashion, or simply enjoyed dressing like Toad of Toad Hall. Pongo, Archie's Dalmatian, wagged his tail enthusiastically, and Gold patted his head. He liked dogs, and this one was friendly enough, he supposed.

"I had no idea you lived near here," Archie went on brightly. "I haven't seen you here before."

 _And you would pick now to walk by her house, wouldn't you?_ thought Gold dryly. Aloud he said. "I don't, Dr Hopper. I was in the area for another reason."

Archie's eyes flicked towards the house, and nodded. "Ah! Belle French's house. She was sick yesterday, as I understand."

"Indeed." Gold cursed his luck at the man knowing far too much about the students. He supposed it came from a background in psychiatry. "She asked me to bring over some work for her."

"At - seven in the morning?" said Archie, taken aback, and Gold felt like grinding his teeth.

"I have no problem with students wanting to catch up on what they miss," he said coolly. "Given her performance in the last piece of work I set I actively encouraged her to work harder. To find a student that takes my advice is - rare to say the least."

"Oh." Archie looked surprised. "Well, that's good of you to put yourself out for the students, Mr Gold."

"She was quite insistent about what she wanted," said Gold dryly. "It's no matter. I expect I'll see you at school, Dr Hopper." He turned on his heel before the man could get any more information out of him, and walked to his car, cursing his luck. He supposed it could have been worse. He could have bumped into Principal Mills. She would certainly have thought the worst of seeing him coming out of Belle's house so early, still in the suit and tie he had been wearing the previous day (and that was something she would _definitely_ have noticed). He thanked fate that it had been Archie, with his lack of interest in clothes. It meant that he could go home, take a shower and change, and not worry that the man would notice and comment on it.

He crossed the street to where his Cadillac sat, weak dawn light gleaming along its black panes. The morning air was still cold at that hour, and Gold pulled open the driver's door, slid into the seat and laid his cane beside him, Then he folded his arms across the top of the steering wheel and pushed his head into them with a sigh. He was going to hell. He was seriously, truly going to hell. Okay, she had apparently wanted him every bit as much as he had wanted her, but one of them was the mature adult here, and it was most certainly not Belle French. He banged his head against his forearms repeatedly, trying not to think of how she had felt beneath him, how her fingers had trailed up his back and her thighs had gripped him and she had moaned and clenched around him as she came.

A knock on his car window made him start, and he jerked upright, scowling. Did everyone in this fucking street wake up at the crack of stupid o'clock just to bloody well freak him out? A handsome face was staring at him curiously, and Gold groaned inwardly as he recognised the sheriff, Graham Humbert. He wound the window down, trying to clear the glare from his face.

"Mr Gold, are you alright?" Graham sounded concerned, and Gold reminded himself that the sheriff was a good man, and highly unlikely to have the faintest idea what he had been up to the previous night.

"I'm fine, thank you, Sheriff," he said calmly. "A personal matter, that's all."

Graham ran his eyes over Gold, who waited for the inevitable questions.

"Rough night?" asked Graham blandly, and Gold frowned.

"Not especially," he said stiffly, but he was aware that he must look as though he'd slept in his car. He was unshaven, his hair unbrushed and his shirt wrinkled. Graham was frowning a little, and sniffed loudly a couple of times as though checking for the smell of alcohol, but eventually he nodded.

"Well, as long as you're alright," he said. "Have a good day, Mr Gold."

"You too." Gold wound up the window, starting the car and driving off before anyone else could interrupt his self-loathing.

* * *

Belle managed, with more than a little difficulty, to get her father into the bath. She was scared by how much easier it was from the first time she had done it; he wasn't leaning on her any less, but he had lost so much weight that she noticed the difference. She drew the curtain for him to preserve his modesty, closing her eyes as she helped to take off his underwear in the water. Handing him the washcloth, he left him to it with a kiss to the top of his head, and went to put on some washing.

Trotting down the stairs, she caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror, and stopped, her arms full of sheets. Her hair hung loose around her face, and her eyes were big and hollow, her cheeks a little thinner than they had been a month or two ago. There was less time to eat these days, she supposed, not that she had much of an appetite anyway. She stepped closer to the mirror, looking herself over. She had not had a chance to really study herself since Gold had...done what he had. Well, not that she expected to see a physical change, not really, but she made sure to inspect her neck for red marks; her father may not notice if she had a bite there, but Ruby surely would. He had been gentle, though. Gentle but urgent. Somehow desperate, as though he couldn't get enough of her.

She remembered the sounds he had made, when he was buried within her, the way his hair had brushed her cheeks, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen, suddenly aching deep within. She touched her lips, dark and full, a little bruised from his kisses. The sheets almost slipped from her grasp, and she clutched them to her chest with a sigh, meeting her own stare. Her eyes seemed a deeper blue than usual, dark and knowing, but she expected that was just her imagination, seeing a fundamental change in herself, seeing something that wasn't there to the eyes of others. Dropping her gaze, she headed through the kitchen and out to the garage, and loaded the washing machine.

Her father was ready to get out when she returned, a little sleepy from the hot water, and he flashed her a tired smile when she went in, his face flushed and damp. She helped him out, gripping him around his once-broad chest beneath his arms to haul him up, and he slipped in the tub as he stepped out, sending them both crashing into the sink. Belle took the worst of it, her back connecting painfully with the hard porcelain, and she sucked in her breath with a wince as he apologised profusely. She managed, with difficulty, to get him back to bed, her back screaming in protest.

"Maybe I shouldn't wash," he offered breathlessly, trying to make light of it, and she shot him a reproving look as she dressed him.

"If you think I'm looking after you when you stink like a pigsty in summer, you can think again," she chided, and they shared a grin. Belle straightened up, trying to ignore her spasming muscles, and helped him lie back, propped up on pillows. She pulled the sheets up carefully, handing him the remote control for the TV.

"I'll get your breakfast," she said, kissing his whiskery cheek. She had meant to give him a shave as well, but she'd be late for school at this rate, and she didn't want to miss two days in a row. She could shave him later.

She let the water out of the tub, resolving to clean it when she got home, and quickly jumped in the shower, washing her hair and lathering soap over her body. She winced a little as she washed, the sharp pain in her back a counterpoint to the dull ache between her thighs. She remembered Gold's hands on her, his mouth on her, the feel of him inside her. It felt strange, almost sad, to wash away the scent of him, as though to do so would be to take away the memory of his touch. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she scrubbed her face briskly, waking herself up fully.

It took her less than ten minutes to twist her hair up in a small towel, dress, and head downstairs to make breakfast. Her father had little appetite, but she made him a boiled egg and some toast, with a cup of coffee, orange juice, and a dish of red grapes and crisp, sliced apple to tempt him.

"I want this eaten, Papa," she said, with mock severity, as she carried the tray into the room, and he shot her an almost guilty look as he pulled his gaze away from the TV.

"I'll do my best, sweetie," he said meekly, and she left him to it. She dried her hair, put on some lipstick so she didn't look entirely like death warmed up, and kissed her father goodbye.

"I'll be back at lunchtime," she promised, handing him the large bottle he used for going to the bathroom when she wasn't there to help him.

She cursed the fact that she hadn't prepared herself anything for lunch, which she usually ate on her walk back to the house at midday to check on him. There wasn't much time for breakfast, either, so she grabbed an apple and hurriedly stuffed some cheese in between two slices of bread. Hardly the most nutritious breakfast, but it was better than nothing.

"I'll see you later, Papa!" she called, grabbing her bag of schoolbooks, and heard his answering call as she left the house.

She hurried along the street, chewing the bread and cheese, the cool air making her shiver a little. Fall had most certainly arrived, and she supposed that she should have put on a warmer jacket. She upped her pace until she was almost trotting, her breath misting in front of her, and soon enough she saw the welcoming lights of Granny's Diner. Warm air hit her as she opened the door, and Ruby looked over from where she was leaning on the counter, a bright smile on her face and a red beanie pulled down over her dark, shiny hair. She wore tight black leggings beneath a fitted leather jacket and loose faded T-shirt, a thick studded belt slung around her slim hips.

"Hey, you're late!" she scolded, still grinning.

"Sorry!" Belle panted, beckoning to her. "Come on, let's go. Emma'll have given up on us."

Ruby grabbed her bag and threw it over her shoulder, picked up two take-out coffees from the counter, and followed Belle out, yelling goodbye to anyone in the diner that was paying attention. She handed one of the coffees to Belle, who took it gratefully, breathing in the warm scent.

"How's your dad?" asked Ruby gently, as they walked, and Belle shot her a tired smile.

"He took two pills, so he was out for the whole night. I think he's a little better."

"Good!" Ruby winced at the sound of her own voice, too bright, too cheerful, and Belle squeezed her arm.

"I know he's not gonna _get_ better, Rubes," she sighed. "But he had a good rest, at least."

"And you?" Ruby's eyes studied her sharply. "You look as tired as you were last night. Did you get _any_ sleep?"

"Of course!" protested Belle, trying in vain not to think about what she had spent much of the evening doing. She wished she didn't blush so easily. "Wait, are you saying I look like crap?" she demanded, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

"You're gorgeous, shut up!" she said flatly. "I mean - look I just worry about you, honey, that's all." She nudged Belle playfully, much as a cat would headbutt its owner with affection, and Belle found herself leaning into her friend with a sigh.

"Double English today, at least," she said, with feeling, and Ruby snorted.

"Yeah, and no Chemistry until next week. I can't _believe_ how long it took us to do that homework yesterday. Gold is such a bastard!"

Belle turned her gaze to the floor. "I guess he thinks he's helping," she muttered, and Ruby snorted.

"Yeah, well, trying to cram three years of what we _should_ have learnt into three months ain't gonna work. You don't need a degree to work that one out, for God's sake!" She sighed, taking a sip of her coffee. "Come on, we'd better get a move on. Can't let you skip any more school, right?"

The girls quickened their steps, and Belle tried to fill her mind with her English lesson-preparation, with the essay she was writing on _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , and anything unconnected with her Chemistry teacher.

* * *

Gold bid Kathryn King, the math teacher, a courteous good morning, and closed her office door behind him as he left. He stalked along the school corridor, cane clicking against the tiles, sending early students scuttling out of his way with nervous looks over their shoulders. He wasn't entirely sure why they all seemed to be afraid of him; he had never so much as raised his voice since he arrived at the school. But then, he found that he rarely needed to. Despite the fact that he was short, thin, and walked with a cane, he had seldom had to resort to shouting to make people respect him. Perhaps some of it was his appearance; he had certainly found in life that what one wore affected how one was treated. He suspected, however, that much of it was down to the fact that he didn't give a solitary fuck about propriety and would beat the living shit out of anyone who pushed him too far. The human animal picked up on many signals, unconsciously assessing a thousand risks as it went through its daily routine. Many of those whose paths he crossed each day, be they natural predator or prey, could no doubt sense that he was not to be trifled with. Good. Physical violence tended to spell the end of a teaching career, and despite the ever-present headache of students refusing to fulfil their potential or coming up with lame excuses for their lack of homework, he actually enjoyed his job.

He mounted the stairs, inwardly cursing his leg at every one, and made his way towards the art rooms, in search of the person who he felt was best placed to help him. He had come to a decision while driving to the school, a decision which he felt was best for Belle. He hoped to put the first parts of his plan into action that day.

The art class was empty, lessons not due to start for another half-hour, and he wandered in, idly looking over the latest creations of the eighth-graders. Much of it was abstract. Perhaps some of it displayed talent, but he couldn't really tell. He could hear noises from the supply cupboard at the far end, rustling and the clatter of dropped items, along with a tuneless singing, and he rolled his eyes, grounded his cane, and waited.

There was a further noise, a loud, muffled _thump_ that sounded like a load of paper hitting the floor, and muttered swearing, and a man came out of the supply cupboard, dressed in tight black jeans and a black shirt with a purple brocade waistcoat over the top. He wore a dark purple paisley cravat around his neck, and was tall and handsome, dark-haired with high cheekbones and a dimple in his chin. He flashed a smile as he noticed who was standing in his classroom. Jefferson Milliner was the art teacher at Storybrooke High; he was flamboyant, gregarious, and, Gold had found since arriving at the school, surprisingly good company. He also owed Gold a favour, due to a problem he had had with an overdue loan, and Gold intended to call that favour in.

"Gold!" said Jefferson cheerfully, shoving his armful of acrylic paints onto one of the desks. "What brings you up to my garret?"

Gold smiled briefly, fingers opening and closing on the handle of his cane.

"That favour you owe me…" he began, and Jefferson let his head roll back with a groan.

"Man, I _told_ you, I can't pay you back until next month!" he objected, sounding put-upon, and Gold held up a hand.

"I don't care about that, dearie," he said quietly. "It's the favour I'm asking for, not the money."

Jefferson straightened up with relief, starting to put the rest of the art supplies he had collected on the desk in front of him.

"Okay, I'm listening," he said, eyes flicking across at Gold.

"I understand that you have a - better relationship than most - with Principal Mills," said Gold calmly, and Jefferson snorted, twirling a pallet knife, a wry expression on his face.

"Hey, I might have dipped my paintbrush in the inky depths of her soul once or twice, but that doesn't mean…"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Gold in a bored voice. "Spare me your euphemisms. What happens between consenting adults in the art supply cupboard every Tuesday evening is between the two of you."

Jefferson looked outraged. "Holy _crap_ , Gold, do you have cameras up in there or something?"

Gold showed his teeth. "Lucky guess," he said mildly. "Could we get back to my favour?"

Jefferson sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes and leaning back against the bench with folded arms.

"Name your price," he said resignedly. "But if you're after a fumble with Regina, I'd steer clear. Don't think I wear this cravat because it looks awesome." He touched his neck, fingers pressing against the paisley silk.

Gold shuddered visibly. "Moving swiftly on…" he began, but Jefferson held up a hand.

"Also, she likes to be called 'Your Majesty'," he added, with a grin. "I can't see you agreeing to that, although the sass war between the two of you while you battled for dominance would be just _awesome_! Hell, i could probably sell tickets!"

Gold closed his eyes with a pained expression. When he opened them, Jefferson was still grinning, and Gold frowned.

"You're trying to distract me by making me uncomfortable," he said coolly. "It won't work. Have you quite finished telling me tall tales of your sexual activities with Principal Mills, or do I have to show you exactly how much pain I can cause with…" he looked around and picked up the stub of a charcoal pencil from the table next to him "...this?"

Jefferson looked alarmed, backing away a little and holding up his hands, palms outward.

"Okay, okay!" he said hastily. "What do you want? I'll see what I can do."

Gold tucked the pencil stub into Jefferson's breast pocket with a thin smile, and the taller man folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his face.

"It's about one of my students," said Gold carelessly. "Her father is dying of cancer. She's understandably falling behind in her work, due to her caring responsibilities, but she's a bright girl, and I want to ensure she doesn't drop out over this."

Jefferson's eyebrows furrowed. "That sucks. Who is it?"

"Belle French," said Gold, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "She failed the last piece of work I set her. I found out why yesterday."

"Belle," Jefferson nodded. "She's a sweet girl. I reiterate my 'that sucks' comment."

"Indeed." Gold looked at the floor. "I want to help her."

"So, what's your plan?" asked Jefferson interestedly, and Gold shrugged.

"I think it would help Miss French to spend a little more time at home, so she can worry less about her father and use her study time more productively," he said. "I've already spoken with Kathryn about her math work, and she's agreed that I can approach an appropriate tutor who can cover both mathematics and chemistry. That way Miss French could spend the whole of Wednesday afternoon and most of Thursday at home." _And she won't have to see me._

Jefferson smirked. "Careful, Gold! People will start to think you have a heart."

"Which is why I'm asking you to do this for me," said Gold evenly. "Regina, for whatever reason, appears not to like me. I have no desire to let her prejudice affect Miss French's future."

Jefferson shrugged. "Don't feel bad, she doesn't like anyone much," he said. "You want me to make her think it was her idea?"

Gold smiled. "I had a feeling I could rely on you," he said silkily. "Do we have a deal?"

Jefferson let out a long, drawn-out breath, as though he was in pain.

"I'll speak to her this morning," he said reluctantly. "I hope you realise this may cost me my dignity and a couple square inches of skin off my sweet little butt."

Gold rolled his eyes. "Is it too late to make you never telling me the details a condition of our deal?" he asked dryly, and Jefferson chuckled.

* * *

It was two-thirty that afternoon, when he was half-way through marking homework assignments for the seventh graders, when Regina Mills breezed into his office without so much as knocking.

"A word, Gold," she said abruptly, and he looked up slowly, eyes narrowing. She stood there, tapping her foot impatiently, one splayed hand on the curve of her hip, her suit perfectly pressed. She always looked as though she was about to close a major financial deal, rather than organise a school fundraiser or deal with student disciplinary matters, and while he admired her sense of style, he couldn't help wondering exactly what she and Jefferson had in common, other than a desire to bang in unusual places.

"How may I help you, Ms Mills?" he asked, with false pleasantness, and the corner of her mouth tilted upwards slightly. Ah. So she thought she had gotten one over on him? Good.

"It's about one of your students," she went on. "I'm afraid there's a problem."

He sat up, putting his pen down very deliberately. "Indeed?" he said coldly. "Who might that be?"

Regina's smile widened. "Belle French," she said. "Apparently she's having some difficulties."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "She'd have fewer difficulties if she applied herself to the work, rather than daydreaming," he snapped. "So, this is my fault, is it? That class hasn't had a decent teacher since they started at this school, and I'm expected to clear up my predecessor's mistakes without upsetting a few of them?"

She shook her head, smirking as she studied her red-lacquered fingernails. "My, my, Mr Gold, I can see I touched a nerve. Why on _earth_ would you think this was anything to do with you?"

He frowned at her. "So she hasn't complained about me tearing her assignment to shreds then?"

"She's said nothing, although frankly I'm surprised I haven't had more complaints about you, going on what I hear in the corridors of this school," she said dismissively. "Were you aware that Walter spent an hour repainting one of the stalls in the girls' bathroom because someone had written ' _Gold is a sadistic fucking asshole'_ in permanent marker?"

He smirked. "No, but I'm aware that there's a drawing of _you_ being taken from behind by the school mascot in the boys' bathroom." He showed his teeth. "Poorly executed, on the whole, but the resemblance is striking."

Regina glared at him, and he sighed, picking up his pen again.

"So, what exactly is the issue with Miss French?" he asked, seemingly uninterested.

"Her father is dying of cancer," said Regina, and he tapped his pen on the piece of work he was marking, frowning.

"I trust you're not expecting me to go easy on the girl just because she is likely to suffer a bereavement in the near future," he said dryly. "I suspect the distraction of schoolwork is just what she needs. Certainly her grades would appreciate her undivided attention."

"God, you really are a bastard!" said Regina flatly, and he shrugged.

"Sticks and stones, dearie. Would you get to the point? I happen to be rather busy."

"I'm taking her out of your class, and Kathryn's," Regina announced decisively. "She can catch up on her studies after her father passes. In the meantime, she can spend that time taking care of him. I'm sure you won't object."

"Well, it appears I won't be given the choice," he said coldly. "What does Miss French say on the matter?"

"I'll speak to her on Monday," said Regina, lifting a perfectly-groomed brow. "Just don't expect to see her in class next week."

"Very well," he grunted. "One down, I suppose."

"You're not assessed on your rate of attrition, Mr Gold," she said coldly, and he grinned.

"Not by you, perhaps." He lifted a long finger. "I do have a sort of internal scorecard that I use, however."

Regina rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, heading for the door.

"By the way, Gold, if I _do_ get complaints from your students about the way you speak to them, rest assured I'll be giving those complaints my fullest attention."

"I would expect nothing less, Ms Mills," he countered smoothly, and grinned to himself as she slammed the office door. Phase one complete.

* * *

Belle managed to get through the day without falling asleep or screwing up in class, which she considered something of an achievement. She liked Fridays; she had English, History and French, all of which she enjoyed, and was good at. She popped back to the house at lunchtime to check on her father and help him through to the bathroom, and they ate a small lunch of chicken and potato salad from the fridge. He asked about her studies, and she got so enthusiastic about the Shakespeare play she was studying for English that she was almost late back from lunch, but overall she was content. He seemed happy. He was well-rested and he was not in pain.

Because she had spent the whole of her lunch-hour at home, and the rest of her time either running between classes or in them, she had not seen Gold. She kept an eye out for him, however, and when the school day was over and she hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of him, she found herself disappointed. Shouldering her bag of books and smiling at Ruby as her friend beckoned from the doorway of their French class, she reasoned that she would be seeing him after the weekend. They needed to clear the air, she felt, although whether they could do that after class was debatable. Perhaps he'd come over. Perhaps he'd call. No, he didn't have her number, but he could find it, surely? The school held records on that sort of thing, right? She chewed her lip, responding to Ruby's chatter with the appropriate, non-committal phrases until they left the school building and set off towards the diner, Emma running up to join them with her blonde hair fanning out behind her.

"Milkshakes?" she said brightly. "You got time, Belle?"

"For one," Belle nodded. "I have to make dinner, but Papa doesn't like me to spend all my time with him."

"Come over later," suggested Emma. "We can watch a movie or something."

Belle agreed happily, and linked her arm through her friend's as they made their way to Granny's.

* * *

By nine o'clock, Gold was on his second large whisky of the evening, and a pleasant numbness was just starting to spread through him. He had put on Elgar's _Cello Concerto_ and sat in the low light of his study, letting the music wash over him, letting his mind drift. His plan was taking form just as he had hoped. Jefferson had made good on his promise, the two telephone calls he had had to make had been a matter of ten minutes, and he was confident that the tutor he had arranged would be able to help Belle. Certainly she would be far less distracted if she was not in his class, and it would mean that she could concentrate on her studies without having to see him. Without having to worry that his own weakness would lead to her downfall.

He ran a hand over his face with a sigh, and tossed back the rest of the whisky. He debated whether to pour another one, and decided that it was Friday night, it really didn't matter if he woke up with a hangover, and if he wanted to get roaringly drunk then he fucking well would. He pushed himself out of the chair, poured himself a large measure, and wandered through to the darkness of the lounge.

* * *

Belle wasn't sure what had been guiding her feet when she left Emma's house. She had wandered, head down, thinking over the events of the past few days. Part of her wanted to push the thoughts away; they were too real, too distracting. Another part of her wanted to savour them. She had lost her virginity. She had spent the best night of her entire life being pleasured by the man she had been harbouring a crush on since he arrived in Storybrooke. And she could talk to no one about any of it. It was a lot to process, and the one person she could discuss it with had made no attempt to contact her and was no doubt regretting every frantic, glorious minute of it. It was perhaps because of this that her subconscious led her to the salmon-pink house on the edge of town.

She paused on the sidewalk, staring in through the darkened windows. Perhaps he was out. Quite why she had expected him to be home alone she didn't know, but he didn't strike her as a particularly sociable person. She raised herself up and down on her toes a couple of times, wondering whether to go and knock on his door, and cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the empty street, as though she expected there to be a legion of people spying on her every move, ready to pounce at the first sign of her going into her teacher's house in the late evening.

From the shadows of the unlit lounge, Gold watched her, small, shapely hands opening and closing in her uncertainty, the smooth curves of her pale cheeks almost gleaming in the light from the streetlamp, the curls of her dark hair shining. She was like an angel, a forest nymph, a thing of pure beauty and goodness, while he, a devil made of smoke and ashes and bitter self-recrimination, lurked in the shadows.

She bit her lip, seemingly hesitant, and he felt his groin twitch at the memory of watching her do that while she lay beneath him. That part of him hoped that she'd walk to the house. That she'd knock on the door. The she'd let him take her to bed. Another part of him, the better, and far less dominant part, was silently urging her to walk in the opposite direction, as fast as she could. He took a long swallow of the whisky, letting its fire burn through him. Belle continued to stare at the house, indecision plain on her face.

Shadows crawled over him, flowing over his shoulders and pulling him backwards, and he sank into them, drawing away from the window, away from her goodness, her light, and, as though she could sense his withdrawal, she turned on her heel and walked slowly back down the road.

It was better this way.

* * *

 **A/N: I know, no smut! I had to get clearance from my teacher for that.**

 **Next time: (yes, there's more, okay, I can't stop writing this bloody thing, shut up!) Gold's plans for Belle come into being. She is not pleased...**


	4. Innocence

**A/N: God, I'm having a blast writing this! *hangs head in shame* Thanks for all your lovely comments.**

 **Anonymousnerdgirl prompted (this is a continuation of the prompt for the last chapter): "** **Belle is grateful for help, but she's also pissed that Gold has effectively cut himself out of her life. Cue Belle storming over to his house to yell at him."**

* * *

Belle spent her weekend in a blur of activity. Her father had another restless night on Friday, and she was consequently tired the next day, carrying out her household chores in something of a daze. Ruby came over on the Saturday afternoon, and the two of them spent a few hours studying for the next week's Chemistry classes, trying desperately to get their notes into some semblance of order so that Gold wouldn't have an excuse to chastise them. A tiny, indulgent part of Belle whispered to her that if she failed spectacularly again, he might call her to his office, with all the exciting possibilities that suggested. She tamped it down firmly. She was not, by nature, someone who took failure in her stride, and having had a major problem pointed out to her, she was determined to fix it.

"No, no!" said Ruby hastily, pointing at her workings. "You're missing an element. You forgot the sulphur."

Growling to herself, Belle scratched out what she had written and started again.

"You'll get this," said Ruby encouragingly. "Look, all you need to remember is that it has to balance. It's really pretty logical."

"Yeah, well, logic seems to be taking a back seat this week," muttered Belle, and Ruby looked sympathetic.

"Why don't you come over to mine tonight?" she suggested. "We could get Emma and Mary over, watch some god-awful chick-flick and eat popcorn."

Belle sighed. "I'd love to," she admitted. "But I don't want to leave Papa on his own two nights running. Maybe next week?" She turned back to her papers. "I really want to get my head around these bloody equations, anyway. We have lab work on Wednesday, remember? It'd be just my luck to screw up the measurements and blow your eyebrows off, or something."

Ruby snorted in amusement. "Yeah, I'll handle that part, if it's okay with you," she said dryly, and put her head to the side. "Look, I know you screwed up with Gold, but I'm sure it was a one-off. You'll ace this piece of work and be back in his good books."

Belle grumbled something under her breath, and Ruby shook her head, dark hair swishing.

"You take too much on yourself," she said, concerned. "Why don't you tell the school, honey? They might be able to do something."

Belle sat up, putting her pen down with a sigh.

"I don't see that they can do anything," she said. "And I don't really want the entire school knowing my personal business. You know what that place is like! I don't think I could bear it if people started whispering whenever I came in a room."

"Okay." Ruby squeezed her hand. "It was just a suggestion. How about this, then? We get Emma and Mary over here, and you can stay with your dad and _still_ eat the popcorn?"

Belle cheered up considerably, and went back to her chemical formulae.

* * *

She heard nothing from Gold over the weekend, and had to admit that she was disappointed. Not that she expected him to come over, far from it; Storybrooke was not a big place, and him being at her house too often would make people talk. It would have been nice to have some acknowledgement from him, however; a call, an email, something to let her know that he thought about her. Monday's classes went slowly, and she didn't see him. She spent an anxious morning break wondering if she should go and knock on his door, and eventually decided against it. If he wanted to see her, he knew where she was.

She was heading towards the large double doors at the end of the day, her head full of her English homework, listening with half an ear to Ruby and Emma's discussion of the admirable qualities of Sheriff Humbert's butt, when Aurora, one of the girls in her class, came bounding up to her.

"Belle!" Aurora skidded to a halt, her brown hair bouncing around her shoulders. "Principal Mills wants to see you in her office."

"I didn't do anything," said Belle automatically, and Aurora giggled.

"She didn't look mad, or anything," she said, with a shrug. "Just said she needed to talk to you."

Belle sighed and exchanged a look with Ruby and Emma.

"Guess I'll see you later," she said resignedly, and set off at a brisk walk.

Heading up the stairs to the principal's office, she thought she caught a glimpse of Gold out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned around, all she saw was the heel of a well-polished shoe and a flash of suit pants. He wasn't avoiding her, surely? Frowning, but unable to deal with this latest problem, she continued on her way to see Principal Mills, knocking on the office door with a distracted air.

"Ah, Miss French, do come in!"

Belle had always found Ms Mills to be cold, uninterested in the students that attended her school, and a strict disciplinarian. The sight of the woman seated behind her desk and smiling warmly made her nervous. She took a seat, trying not to fidget.

"Well, let me get straight to the point," said Ms Mills abruptly, lacing her fingers together. "I understand you're failing chemistry."

"I…" Belle felt a blush start to rise in her cheeks. Did she _know_? "It - it was one paper, that's all, and I'm making it up, I spent all weekend on…" She cut off as Ms Mills lifted a hand.

"Please, dear, it's not a criticism. Mr Gold is a - difficult man. My concern is your domestic situation. Your father is gravely ill, I hear."

Belle chewed her lip in distress. "How did you hear that?" she asked, upset, and the principal's eyes narrowed.

"So, it's true. Why didn't you say something? The school would be more than willing to help you in any way we could."

"I'm doing just fine," said Belle defensively, and Ms Mills frowned.

"I highly doubt that," she said dryly. "Believe it or not, Miss French, I know what you're going through. I've lost people close to me, and I assure you that trying to put a brave face on it will only take you so far."

"I'm not trying to be brave," insisted Belle. "I have to take care of him. The school can't help."

"Well, you may be wrong there," sniffed Ms Mills. "I assure you we're not entirely without sympathy. I appreciate that you want to care for your father, and that you may not have the means to have him looked after professionally."

"I don't," confirmed Belle glumly.

"Therefore I think it best that you spend some of your school week at home," said Ms Mills decidedly. "I've suggested to Mr Gold and Miss King that you cease attending their lessons for the time being. You can easily pick up those subjects at a later time, after…" She smiled a little uncertainly. "Well, we'll see how things go, shall we?"

Belle's eyes narrowed. "You spoke to Mr Gold?" she said flatly, and Ms Mills eyed her, pursing her dark red lips.

"I did. He wasn't pleased about losing a student, of course, but I've convinced him it's for the best."

"Then it wasn't his suggestion?" asked Belle suspiciously.

"Because you're failing his class?" Ms Mills looked amused. "On the contrary, dear, he seemed to think you ought to be taking your mind off things with extra study. I explained that that won't be happening."

"Right." Belle was unsure what to believe, and chewed her lip uncertainly. "How did you find out about this? Only a few people knew."

Ms Mills sat back and averted her eyes, suddenly seeming interested in the papers in front of her.

"Well, as the principal I have a number of sources," she said dismissively. "I assure you that it didn't come from any of your friends, but I have ways of finding these things out."

Belle frowned, but let it pass.

"So, I guess I won't be in school much of Wednesday or Thursday," she said resignedly, and Ms Mills smiled.

"You can take the whole of Thursday. I spoke to Mr Short, and he's agreed that you can either come in an hour early or stay late on Friday, and he'll go through Thursday's History lesson then."

"That's good of him." She meant it, really. Everyone was being so - helpful. She was grateful, and a tiny part of her knew that she would be far less tired and able to cope better with her father's needs if she was at home a little more, but she hated imposing on anyone. She also hated the idea of falling behind in chemistry and math (not to mention the fact that she would no longer be in Gold's classes), but she supposed Ms Mills was right. She could catch up. After. She sighed, looking at her linked fingers.

"When - when do I start?" she asked, and Ms Mills smiled.

"This week. Attend as normal tomorrow, and take most of Wednesday at home."

"Thank you." Belle got to her feet, and Ms Mills looked up at her, chin resting on her folded hands.

"Keep me informed, Miss French," she said. "I want to be sure this arrangement is working for you."

"I will." Belle bid her goodbye and left the office, sagging back against the wall outside for a moment. Her mind was whirling, and she stomped off down the corridor to Gold's office, raising a hand to knock smartly at his door. There was no answer, and when she tried the handle she found it locked. He had clearly left for the day. She chewed her lip in frustration, still suspicious as to how Ms Mills was suddenly aware of her problems only a few days after she had told him. Still, it was out now, she supposed. Sighing, she pushed away from the door, and set off home, digging her phone from her pocket to call Ruby and explain the situation to her.

"And she wouldn't say who told her?" asked Ruby, when Belle had finished. "Weird. You know it wasn't one of us, right?"

"I know," Belle assured her. She had never really suspected her friends; they knew that she liked her business to be kept private. "The damage is done, I guess. Hopefully the whole school won't get to find out."

"You won't be in class," pointed out Ruby. "People are gonna notice."

Belle sighed, rolling her eyes. "I know. Oh, bugger it, Rubes, I have bigger things to worry about. At least I can spend more time with Dad this way."

"True. You should give him the good news, he'll like having you at home more."

"He'll hate thinking that it's because of him I'm flunking lessons," said Belle gloomily. "See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be waiting with coffee and doughnuts," promised Ruby, and rang off.

* * *

It was strange, starting her Wednesday and knowing that she didn't have to be at school until the afternoon. She got her father washed and dressed, and made breakfast for them both. He had, as she had suspected he would, felt desperately guilty over her dropping chemistry and math classes, and she had spent a good half an hour explaining to him that it was for the best, and that she could easily pick up where she left off at a later date. She didn't say when that might be, and nor did he, but it hung in the air between them nonetheless, the terrible knowledge of his mortality, of his inevitable end.

"I never wanted this for you, sweetheart," he said sadly. "I should have taken better care of you."

"We take care of each other," she said reassuringly, and patted his leg through the blankets. He clutched at her hand, as though by that gesture, that physical connection, he could somehow stay with her, and she had to pull away before she started crying

"I'll be back later," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "The ironing won't do itself."

She kissed his cheek and gave him a wobbly smile, walking quickly from the room and trotting downstairs to put on the iron. The sound of a car engine roaring past the house made her look around in surprise; their street was not known for guys revving their engines and she hoped that wouldn't change. Silence returned, and she pulled out the ironing board and set it up in the kitchen. She planned on going through the pile of clothes that had been waiting for her attention since the weekend, but the cheerful clang of the doorbell made her look up. Brow furrowing, and hoping it wasn't someone selling anything, she bustled to the door and opened it up.

"Hello, darling." The tall, thin woman on the other side had a drawling, somehow throaty English accent, and dressed a little like Ruby. She wore tight, black leather pants and a black top beneath a thick black and white fur coat which Belle suspected was real. Her hair was a layered bob in blonde so pale it was almost white, over black hair beneath. She was lounging against the doorframe, smiling at Belle with bright red lips, a somewhat predatory gleam in her eyes.

"May I - help you?" asked Belle nervously, and the woman waved a languid hand, leather gloves creaking.

"I suppose we'd better get started," she said breezily, walking past Belle into the house and shrugging off her coat, revealing pale, thin shoulders.

"Wait, _what_?" asked Belle, confused. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The woman turned to her with a look of surprise.

"Carella Feinberg, darling," she said, as though that explained everything. She gestured impatiently as Belle shrugged. "Your tutor! I'm here to teach you maths and chemistry while you're off school taking care of your father."

"Did - did Ms Mills send you?" asked Belle, surprised and pleased, and Carella pursed her lips.

"That sounds plausible, doesn't it?" she asked carelessly.

Belle's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?" she asked suspiciously, and the woman chuckled deeply.

"More than my life's worth to question the philanthropy of others," she said agreeably. "I assure you I really don't care who pays my fees, as long as they _are_ paid."

"Hmm." Belle wasn't sure what to think of that, but Carella made an impatient noise.

"Well come along, darling! Books!" She flapped a hand at Belle. "We're already behind schedule. Sorry I'm a little late, the traffic was a _nightmare_!"

"In Storybrooke?" said Belle sceptically, and Carella rolled her eyes.

"Fine, fine, I had a hangover, sue me!" she said, in a long-suffering voice that made Belle want to giggle. She went to retrieve her schoolbooks from her room, and when she got back downstairs Carella was seated at the kitchen table, looking expectant.

"Let's start with algebra," she announced, and Belle opened her books with a grin.

* * *

She managed to get a surprising amount done that morning. Carella may have looked like she was recently home from an all-night party with a bunch of hipsters, but she certainly knew a lot about mathematics, and Belle found her explanations of the algebraic equations they had been working on clearer than those of Miss King. She had even had a chance to fix lunch for her father and finish the washing, and she was hopeful that her new arrangements would mean that she would be able to get through however many months her father had left without falling behind in her schoolwork too much.

"Thank you," she said, as the woman pulled on her thick fur coat. "I really appreciate it. I know I told Ms Mills that I didn't think the school could help - I had no idea that she could arrange anything like this. I should really thank her."

Carella sighed. "Look, darling, she didn't arrange anything," she said wearily. "I'm doing a favour for a friend. Well, I'm being well-paid for it, but the fact remains that this is eating into my day."

"What friend?" asked Belle, eyes narrowing, and Carella shrugged.

"As I said, it's none of my business," she said carelessly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. We'll be studying chemistry, so you might want to look over atomic structures if you have half an hour."

Belle folded her arms across her chest.

"Chemistry," she said flatly. "Did Mr Gold send you?"

"Tomorrow, darling!" trilled Carella, giving her a wave, and notably failing to answer. She sashayed off down the path, the long fur of her coat rippling in the breeze, and Belle shut the door with a frown. She had little time to sit and fret about whether Gold had or had not paid for a tutor; she had to check on her father, help him to the bathroom, and get up to the school for her English class.

* * *

In the end she had to run to make it on time, and by the time class finished she was feeling bone-weary. She begged off going to Granny's with the girls, saying that she wanted to catch up on some homework, which was partly true. If she really wasn't dropping chemistry and mathematics (and it appeared that she wasn't) she was finding it difficult to see how her situation had improved in terms of the time she spent studying and looking after her father. She couldn't in all honesty, think of any significant difference, which meant that the only thing that had changed was that she was no longer in Gold's classes. She frowned as she thought it over, cooking dinner for herself and her father. He didn't eat much, and she was too distracted to have much of an appetite.

It was after six when she cleared the dishes away and began tidying up the lounge, plumping the couch cushions and putting away a stray book. She didn't notice the truck pulling up outside her house with Leroy, one of the school security guards at the wheel. He honked the horn, making her jump, and she looked out of the window curiously, before opening the front door.

"You must be Belle!" A cheerful, pretty young woman almost fell out of the truck, dressed in the pale green scrubs that some of the nurses wore at Storybrooke General Hospital. Belle shot her a curious look, and glanced at Leroy, who nodded to her in his usual surly manner. The young woman bounced up to her, brown hair tied up on her head and hand outstretched.

"I'm Astrid," she said happily. "I'm so pleased to meet you. I have everything here that we need - my husband will bring it through. Is your dad upstairs?" She pushed past Belle into the house, and Belle, for the second time that day, found herself following a stranger into her home in a state of utter confusion. Leroy stumped in with a bulging medical bag under one arm and a large box under the other.

"I - he…" Belle began, and Astrid shook her head.

"Didn't the agency call to tell you I was coming?" she asked uncertainly. "I was due to start this evening, I had to finish off another job this afternoon, but from tomorrow I'll be here from two until ten, every day!" She looked positively ecstatic about the possibility.

"But…" Belle's head swivelled between Leroy and his wife. "I don't understand, there's no way we can afford this."

"Bill's paid, sister," said Leroy grumpily. "Won't cost you a thing. Now, why don't you take Astrid up to meet your old man? I'll be right behind you."

Mind whirling, Belle turned from them without a word and headed up the stairs. The bill was paid? How? She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew.

Moe was a little taken-aback by Astrid's enthusiastic greeting, but he warmed to her quickly. Belle couldn't imagine anyone _not_ liking Astrid, frankly, and the way the woman quickly set to work, making her father more comfortable and getting things ready for a bath, made her heave a sigh of relief. Leroy set to work with his tools, putting together a hoist that would be used for lifting Moe out of bed.

"Don't want you straining your back," he grunted, when Belle questioned him. It was all a little overwhelming, and she found herself getting upset. Not upset with _them_ , not at all. Upset with the man who appeared to have taken it upon himself to interfere in her life this way.

"Did you say you'll be here until ten?" she asked Astrid flatly, as the woman came through from the bathroom, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Sure!" she said brightly, and Belle nodded.

"Good, because I have something to do," she said grimly, and snatched up her coat, storming out of the house and up the street.

* * *

It took her a while to walk to the pink house, and her anger rose with every step, her stride quickening until she was almost running, blue skirt flaring out around her legs. It was fully dark by the time she reached his place, and Belle stalked up the path, arms pumping, fury simmering in her. She could hear music coming from the house, the rich voice of an operatic tenor, and she pounded on the door as hard as she could, the impact on her clenched fist adding to her rage. She stood there, bristling, watching the warm yellow light in the hallway change as a figure came towards the door. Gold opened it, music spilling out around him as the tenor was joined by a deep baritone; _La Bohème_ , she realised. It had been one of her mother's favourites. Gold was clad in his shirtsleeves, cufflinks gone, tie off, and his shirt open at the neck. A triangular patch of smooth, tanned skin was visible at his throat, and she had a sudden memory of seeing him naked, of that skin, warm against hers, of the touch of his hands. She shoved the thoughts away ruthlessly.

"Miss French," he said neutrally. "What brings you…"

"How _dare_ you!" she blurted. "What the _hell_ do you think you're playing at?"

His eyebrow twitched, and he stepped smoothly to the side and held the door open.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked mildly. and Belle stalked past him into the hallway. She didn't even bother to look around herself.

"Please, go through to the kitchen," he offered pleasantly, shutting the door. "Off to the right, there."

Belle marched into a large and well-appointed kitchen, its surfaces gleaming, a delicious smell coming from a pot on the stove; she could smell garlic, tomatoes and oregano, and saw the remains of chopped vegetables and herbs on a wooden board. An open bottle of red wine stood on the sideboard, a cut crystal glass holding a generous measure.

"You interrupted me making dinner," said Gold, as she whirled to face him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, and his mouth twisted a little.

"Well, I was about to have a glass of wine, but I can't really offer you one," he said carefully. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, I don't want your tea!" she snapped. "I wouldn't drink your tea if I was dying of thirst! I want an explanation!"

He shrugged, picking up the wine glass and taking a sip.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific."

"You arranged that nurse for Papa!" she said, jabbing an accusatory finger at him. "You told Ms Mills about my dad's cancer! You had me taken out of your _class_! You - you _paid_ for a tutor! Why?"

"Well, I would have thought that was obvious," he said blandly, not even attempting to deny it. "You're failing class. You can't study _and_ care for your father at the same time. Is Astrid not efficient? I can have her replaced if so."

"Astrid's lovely!" she said defensively. "That's not the bloody point!"

"Carella, then?" he suggested, taking another drink with a quirk of his brow. "I assure you she's very knowledgeable, even if she does like her gin a little too much."

"Shut up!" she shouted, and he put his glass down with a smirk, which only made her more angry. She opened and closed her fists a couple of times while she tried to organise her thoughts, fury and humiliation pounding through her with the beat of her heart.

"Astrid and Carella are both amazing," she said angrily. "What I want to know is _why_!"

The opera changed in tone, Mimi explaining her daily life to Rodolfo, the sweet soprano of her voice swelling, filling the kitchen. Gold's jaw worked a little, but he met Belle's furious gaze, fingers stretching out and then closing around his cane handle.

"I wanted to help," he said quietly.

"Well, I didn't _need_ or _want_ your help!" she snapped. "We were doing just fine on our own! I _told_ you I could handle it! Did you just think I was lying? That _you_ knew better?"

He frowned. "Belle, whether you want to admit it or not, you _do_ need help, I was just…"

"The only thing I needed from you, I got!" she shouted, and he recoiled from her, his eyebrows climbing. She trembled with rage.

"What _is_ this?" she demanded. "I haven't heard from you in almost a week, and then you pull this crap! Do you feel guilty? Are you trying to - to ease your _conscience_ , or something?"

Gold narrowed his eyes and took a swallow of wine, dark red liquid sloshing in the glass as he studied her.

"Of course not," he said coldly. "I just wanted you to get some rest, to spend time on your studies."

"It's not for _you_ to decide how I spend my time!" she snapped, gesturing fiercely. "Do you regret what we did, is that it?"

"Well, of course I bloody do!" he snapped, putting the glass down hard on the worktop. "That wasn't the reason! I just felt…"

"Oh, _you_ felt? _You_ felt?" She shivered with anger, his regret over what they had shared like a sharp pain in her gut. "Do you know how this makes _me_ feel?"

He shrugged. "Well, it appears to have upset you…"

"Like a whore!" she blurted. "You - you _fuck_ me and now you act like you can pay me off!"

Her voice stumbled over the profanity, her cheeks flushing with shame and rage. He had flinched at her words, and he lifted a hand, fingers outstretched, as though he would touch her, as though he could calm her.

"Belle, I never wanted…"

"But you _did_!" She could feel tears pricking her eyes, and was furious with herself. "I gave you _everything_ I had, and you just pull out your credit card and cut me out of your life like it was _nothing_! Like you can _fix_ me!"

"That was not my intent," he said coldly.

"Well, it was the bloody result!" she spat. "'For every action there's an equal and opposite reaction', isn't that right, Mr Gold?" She threw up her hands. "Well, look what just happened! We demonstrated a scientific principle! Maybe I'm not completely flunking your stupid class!"

He rolled his eyes in irritation, flicking his hair back with a brief toss of his head.

"Belle, if you think this was just about your appalling marks in the last piece of work I set…"

"Well, of course I don't think that!" she snapped, tapping her forefinger against the side of her head. "I think it's about _you_ feeling guilty about what we did and not wanting me around as a reminder!"

"This is about me wanting what's best for you!" he countered angrily, and she shook her head.

"For your information I've been taking care of myself and Papa for years!" she shouted. "I was making my own choices long before _you_ came into my life and decided I was gonna be your next mistake!"

He brought his hand down on the kitchen counter with a resounding crack, his jaw clenched and eyes flashing darkly.

"This has nothing to do with what happened between us!" His voice was raised, his accent thick with emotion. She could see his nostrils flaring with anger, his breath coming hard and heavy, and she felt a traitorous lurch in her abdomen at the look in his eyes.

"Really?" she flung at him. "I think it does, even if you won't admit it to yourself! You want to forget it ever happened, so you're trying to pay me off!"

He glared at her. "I want what's best for you!" he insisted.

"And you think _you_ get to decide what's best for me?" she demanded, gesturing between them. "You think _you_ get to decide _my_ fate? Why the hell do you think you have the right?"

"Because you're a child!" he snapped, eyes blazing, and she rocked back on her heels, feeling as though he'd punched her, as though she had to catch her breath. An odd calmness settled over her, an anger so pure that it smothered the fire inside her, tamped it down, made her cold. She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin proudly, her chest heaving.

"Well, what the hell does that make _you_?" she said sneeringly.

His jaw sagged, his eyes filled with a sudden anguish, and his mouth worked a little as he tried to speak. She couldn't bear it. Drawing herself up to her full height, she went to march past him, and he grabbed at her arm.

"Belle…" he said desperately, and she twisted free with a glare.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped. "You got what you wanted, didn't you? You took what I had and now you've got me out of your life. Congratulations, Mr Gold."

She stalked from the room, heading for the door, and she could hear him following her, his cane clicking on the wooden floor.

"Belle!" he called, and she wrenched open the door, slipping through it and slamming it behind her. She leant back against it with a thump, putting her face in her hands. The tears that had been threatening to fall since she had arrived started to form, large, stinging droplets brimming on her lower lids and dripping down her face like rain.

Gold let his head roll back with a sigh, coming to a halt in the hallway. He could see her, a dark shadow through the stained glass panes, her back to him, head bent. He stood there for a long time, watching her; the way her body was sagging slightly and her shoulders were shaking was slowly killing him inside. He was waiting for her to push away, to leave, to go back to her father and her home. To her friends and her schoolwork. To what he had left her of her childhood. The guilt was almost too much, like a blade twisting in his gut, a desperate agony; what he had done could never be undone, no matter how much he tried to fix it. He had been her first. She would never be free of him. Wearily, his limp worse than ever, he walked slowly towards the door, his heart clenching as he heard soft sobbing on the other side. He reached up hesitantly, stroking a finger over cold, blue glass, imagining that it were ice, like his heart. Better it were black, like his tortured soul, so he wouldn't see her. So he wouldn't want to touch her. So she could leave. He let his head rest against the cool wood of the door with a sigh, and waited for her to go, to walk away. It was for the best: she would see that, in time.

"I know you're there." Her voice was a little wobbly, and muffled by the door, but it made him smile slightly, its slightly petulant tone, the hint that she had not lost her anger. He saw the image in the rippled glass change as she turned.

"I can _feel_ you," she said, more quietly, and he felt a tugging in his groin. He sighed deeply, wanting to bang his head against the wood.

"Can - can you feel me?" she asked, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he heard her palm move across the wood, as though there was no door between them. As though she would brush his cheek.

"Yes," he whispered. His fingers slid down the blue glass, and into the red pane beneath, and his breath misted against the dark wood, a flare of condensation that disappeared almost immediately. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

"I fucked up," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Belle. I'm sorry for everything."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she said tiredly. "I - I don't want to _talk_." He heard her hand move, her touch sliding across the wooden doorframe, a gentle rasping sound.

"Let me in." It was said softly, so that he could barely hear it, and he screwed up his face in pain, his desire for her burning in the darkened depths of his soul.

"Go home, Belle," he whispered, hating himself. "Please, go home."

"No." Her voice was stubborn. "Let me in."

He sighed, knocking his head against the door with a dull thud. His palm lay flat against the glass pane, and she lifted her hand, pressing her own palm against the other side, her fingers splaying out a little to mirror his, as though they were touching through red glass, as though the gulf between them could be bridged by fire and passion. His hand was tingling, the blood singing in his ears, and he could feel himself twitch in his pants, could feel himself starting to harden. The music from the kitchen swelled; _O Soave Fanciulla_ filling his head, and his desire for the girl just out of his reach was a physical pain deep within his body, clawing at his heart.

Belle could sense him, his need for her like electricity, crackling and sparking in the air around them. She could feel it surging through her, her breath heavy and hot, her insides twisting and writhing, her pulse thumping and her skin strangely tight, as though she was too much for her own body to contain.

"Let me in!" she said insistently, and almost stumbled forwards as he wrenched open the door. She caught a glimpse of his face, his mouth open, his eyes dark and gleaming, and he took her hand and pulled her inside the house, kicking the door shut and pushing her up against the wall. He dropped his cane, his hands on the wall on either side of her, his breath coming in pants, forehead pressed to hers, and she felt his aura sweep around her and pull her in, so that she was breathing in his scent, so that her chest rose and fell in time with his, so that she stared deep into his eyes.

"Dammit, Gold, just kiss me!" she hissed, and he twisted his head, slamming his mouth against hers. Belle moaned, letting his tongue enter her, tasting wine on him and the sweetness of roasted tomatoes. She let her hands slide over his shoulders, feeling the scrape of his stubble against the smoothness of her cheeks as his hands moved down her body, mapping her curves beneath the skirt and tight white shirt she wore. She clung to his shoulders as he slipped his hand between her legs and cupped her, his touch hot through her cotton panties. His hand moved, and she moaned into his mouth, knowing that she was wet, knowing that he would find out, and she rose up on her toes a little as his finger slipped inside her underwear, spreading the fluid he found there as he groaned with pleasure. He pulled his mouth free, resting his forehead against hers once more, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him.

"Fuck, Belle!" he gasped, and fumbled with his belt, unzipping his pants to free himself. She was breathing heavily, her breasts pushing against him, her fingers tightening in his hair. Hands trembling, he reached up to cup her cheek, brushing the waves of her dark hair back from her face, running his thumb over the deep pink of her lower lip. He pulled it down, exposing the glistening inner wall, and let out a rumbling growl as he slid his thumb inside, feeling the soft heat of her wet mouth, the gentle stroke of her tongue against him. Her eyes flicked up at him as she sucked him, beautifully wide and dark, and in that moment he wanted her more than he wanted life. He withdrew his thumb, slick with her saliva, watching her eyes close as he claimed her lips once more. She let out a tiny moan as he kissed her, and his hands slipped down between her legs, lifting her skirt, pushing her thighs apart.

His body was pressed up against her, and he was so close, so close to where he wanted to be, his cock hard against the smooth skin of her inner thigh. He pulled her underwear to the side, his fingers sliding into her, her juices coating him, and Belle let her head roll back with a groan, pushing herself against his hand. He kissed down her neck, his tongue swirling over the heavy beat of her pulse, and she moaned again, her fingers tugging at his hair as his thumb rubbed over her clit. This was a bad idea, he knew. They had no protection, they were reliant on his self-control, which was apparently fucking pitiful, but she was writhing and moaning at his touch and he could feel her tensing and he knew she was going to come and God, he wanted to feel that!

He pulled his fingers from her, and she whined in protest, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

"Belle…" he began desperately, but she shook her head.

"Shut up!" she breathed. "Do it!"

He bent his knees slightly, the position hell on his ruined ankle, and took himself in hand, spreading her fluids up and down his length with a groan of pleasure. He tugged her panties roughly aside, the head of his cock brushing up against her, and Belle whimpered, her hands slipping down to grasp his shoulders as it slid over her swollen clit. He rubbed over it again, his cock slippery with her juices, and she moved back and forth to help him, pushing herself against him. He increased the movements, his cock sliding along her folds, dipping tantalisingly into the petals of flesh at her entrance.

"Yes!" she said urgently, and he slid inside her with a loud groan, her snug walls gripping him, her arousal easing his way. She felt like cream, like silk, her heat and wetness surrounding him, and he felt as though his mind would explode. She keened, lifting her leg high, wrapping it around his waist so that he could get all the way inside her, and he began to thrust, hard, slamming her against the wall in his urgency. She cried out as he moved, the lacy edge of her panties scraping along his length, and he nipped along her jaw to her ear, her skin moist with his hot, panting breath.

"Come for me," he growled. "Come for me, Belle."

She began rocking against him, sweat forming on her upper lip, and he ran his tongue across her cheek to her mouth, seeking the tang of her salt. She was close, her body stiffening, her tiny cries growing louder, and he reached between them, his fingertip flickering over her clit as he pounded into her. Belle came with a long, moaning cry, her muscles fluttering and clenching around him, the feel of hot liquid flowing down over his cock. He could feel himself building, the feel of her and the scent of her almost too much, and he didn't want to pull out, he didn't want to leave her. He wanted to come deep inside her, to feel her body pull his seed from him. Face twisting, he pulled out of her with a strangled noise, grasping his straining cock and pumping it once, twice, three times, until he lost his mind and white light burst in his head, blinding him and he came with a groan, hot fluid spurting across the pale, perfect skin of her thigh.

His leg wobbled, finally giving out, and they both tumbled to the floor, Gold falling on his back with a grunt as Belle landed on top of him. They lay for a moment, gasping for breath, radiating heat, and eventually she pushed up on her hands, hair swinging in her face as she looked down at him. Her lips were dark and full, tiny red marks on the pale length of her throat where he had kissed her, where he had bitten her, and he reached up wearily to brush her hair back. She smiled at him, a brief, tremulous quirk of her lips, and he closed his eyes with a sigh.

This was not going to plan.

* * *

 **A/N: Poor Mr Gold is fighting a losing battle here, methinks. Hope you enjoyed. I had a minor meltdown over the smut in this chapter, but got there in the end.**


	5. Deliverance

**A/N: Had some great prompts for this 'verse, so it will be continuing :) Thanks for all your lovely comments. Anyway, in case you forgot what happened last time, Belle found out Gold had effectively cut her out of his life and paid for a nurse for her father and a tutor for her, and had gone over to his house to yell at him. Cue wall-sex. I'm afraid there's no smut in this chapter.**

 **From an anon: "Cruella talks about Gold and finds Belle's dreamy look a bit odd. Naturally suspicious and gin-loving she drunkenly mentions Belle around Gold to see his reaction"**

* * *

Gold stroked a thumb over Belle's cheek, the bliss fading, reality creeping up to slide cold fingers down his back and make him shiver. He dropped his hand with a sigh, and she sat up fully, straddling him, not meeting his eyes.

"I - um - I should go," she said uncertainly, and pushed herself to her feet. He could see smears of shiny fluid on her thigh where he had come, and she wrinkled her nose a little as she looked down at it. There were wet patches on her skirt, too. God, it was _everywhere_! Which meant it would also be on his suit pants. The next visit to the dry-cleaners was going to be - interesting. He ran his hands over his face, wanting to groan. He was in deep shit, and instead of trying to bail himself out he kept on cheerfully shovelling more on top. The fact that her scent on his fingers was turning him on all over again was not helping in the slightest.

Belle left him lying there and went back into the kitchen, wetting and wringing some thick kitchen paper and using it to wipe herself clean. She hadn't thought there would be so _much_ of it! Her body was still humming from her orgasm, from the feel of him, and from her anger, which was still simmering there, beneath the surface. She heard him getting up over the sweet sound of the music, heard the rustle of clothing and the sound of his zip and the tap of his cane as he approached the kitchen, and she wiped off the last of the mess they had made.

"Are you..?"

"If you ask me if I'm okay _one more time_ , I'm gonna scream!" she interrupted, slapping the kitchen paper down on the counter and turning to him with a glare. His eyes widened, and he held up a hand, his other tightening around his cane.

"I was about to ask if you were hungry," he said calmly, his jaw tightening a little. "I could make you dinner."

He had tucked himself in and done up his pants, but there were wet patches on them, from where she had fallen on him. His hair was awry, and he looked wonderfully dishevelled. She chewed her lip, trying not to think about how badly she still wanted to touch him. He gestured at the pot of sauce on the stove, which had reduced rather more than he had intended, she imagined.

"I'm having pasta," he offered. "I could put on enough to share, if - if you wanted."

Belle dropped her eyes. "No, thank you," she said more reasonably. "I have to get back."

"Very well," he said neutrally, and for some reason his demeanour annoyed her.

"Besides, I'm still mad at you," she added.

He dropped his eyes. "I understand."

"Do you?" She put the wet kitchen paper in the trash, turning to face him and folding her arms. "Do you actually realise what annoyed me?"

He hesitated, mouth opening slightly before he checked himself, and she shook her head.

"You don't, do you?" she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes. "You cut me out of your life without even discussing it with me. Without giving me a chance to say what I wanted, don't you see that?"

"I wanted to make things easier for you," he said quietly. "After what we - what _I_ did - you shouldn't have to see me. I wanted you to feel safe."

"All you did was make me feel cheap," she protested. "And what do you mean by putting all this on you? It's not like I can't make my own decisions."

"I know that," he assured her, his hand raised, fingers splaying, as though it would calm her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I just - I didn't want you to have to deal with it," he added. "With me. Apparently I can't be trusted around you." His mouth twisted, his expression rueful, and she sighed.

"I remember being the one to ask you to let me in," she pointed out. "Maybe I'm the one who can't be trusted."

"All the more reason for me to try to protect you," he said reasonably, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, you should really apologise for giving me amazing orgasms," she said dryly, and he winced.

"Belle…" he began, and she cut him off with a shake of her head.

"Forget it. I guess we're not going to agree on the fact that I don't need to be protected from you. What about the other stuff? Sneaking around and arranging my life without even talking to me about it. What did you think you were doing?"

Gold straightened, dropping his hand to curl around the cane handle with the other, closing himself off from her.

"I thought I was helping," he said, his voice stiff, and Belle sighed again.

"Look, I didn't need your help."

"I beg to differ," he said coldly, and she bristled.

"Okay, but I didn't _want_ it!" she said, aware that she was sounding petulant. "And I don't want you doing things for me because you feel guilty."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he snapped, making her eyes widen. "This isn't about me feeling guilty!" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I mean, yes, I feel as guilty as hell, but that's not my reason for helping you."

"Then _what_?" she demanded, and he rolled his shoulders, his mouth twisting. There was silence for a moment, and she kept her lips pressed firmly together, waiting for him to speak.

"Belle, I know you're very bright," he said, his voice calm. "I didn't want you to throw away your education because you can't afford to take the time to study." She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand, and she shut it again, feeling mutinous.

"I know you don't see caring for your father as work," he added. "But you can't spend most of your day looking after him and expect to get your homework done, along with everything else you have to do."

Belle scowled, knowing he was right, and resenting it. She folded her arms across her chest, as though she could hide her feelings from him.

"I still don't see why you felt the need to step in," she pointed out, and he gazed at her steadily.

"I understand what it is to make difficult decisions, to make choices you shouldn't have to make," he said. "I didn't want you to have to choose between your father and your education."

"It was never a choice," she sighed, unfurling her arms and letting them fall helplessly to her sides. "Of course I didn't want to give up my studies, but I would have done it."

"And now you don't have to," he said easily. She was silent, and he put his head to the side, watching her. "You said that Astrid and Carella were amazing."

"Yes," she said warily, and he shrugged as if to ask what the problem was. She frowned. "I just don't - I don't want to be beholden to - anyone, that's all."

He looked at the ceiling and made a tiny noise at the back of his throat, one born of frustration, she thought. When he met her eyes again, however, his face was smooth.

"I have plenty of money, Belle," he said gently. "All just sitting around doing nothing but reproduce. At least let me use it to help - someone - who needs it more than me. I have no family to leave it to, after all."

"We're not family," she observed, and he sighed, looking away with an irritated expression.

"No," he confirmed. "No, we're not."

"And I never wanted to be a charity case, either," she said stubbornly.

"But will you accept my help, despite all that?" he asked coolly, and she hesitated.

"I…" She looked at the floor, thinking for a moment, then met his eyes once more. "I - oh, alright, I'd be stupid not to, I guess."

"Well, I think we can agree that you're very far from stupid," he said dryly, and her lips quirked.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and meant it. He smiled, and it lit up his face, his eyes twinkling at her.

"You're very welcome," he said. "Have you finished yelling at me, now?"

"I guess," she grumbled, and he chuckled.

"Would you like me to take you home?" he offered, and she shook her head.

"No, thanks. You should eat your dinner before that sauce burns." She made to walk past him into the hallway, feeling awkward.

"Belle." His voice made her turn, and she looked at him, his back still to her, his shoulders a little slumped.

"I meant it," he said quietly. "You don't have to see me. I don't expect anything in return."

Belle wished he'd look at her. The opera music changed once more, its tone bright and playful, and she stood in the dimly-lit hallway, wanting him to come to her, unsure what she'd do if he did. She watched the light play on the dark silk of his shirt, on the strands of his hair, and remembered running her fingers through it, its softness brushing her face as he kissed her, as he lowered her down on her bed. As he shoved her against the wall and took her. He was always so calm, so measured, his voice cool and reserved. She wondered if anyone else in Storybrooke had ever seen him in the throes of passion, ever seen him let go and lose himself. She imagined not.

"I would never sleep with someone out of a sense of obligation," she said. "I hope you know that."

"Good." It was almost a whisper, barely audible over the music, and she waited for him to continue, but he remained silent, his head bowed. She wanted him to face her, but he didn't, merely stood with his back to her, shoulders hunched, shutting her out. Hesitating, and feeling conflicted, her emotions flitting between gratitude, arousal and a high level of irritation, she stood for a moment, thumbs stroking over her curled fingers. He said nothing further, and didn't move from his position, so she walked silently to the door, pulled it open, and left the house.

* * *

By the time she got home her emotions were in turmoil, but Astrid's chirpy greeting was like a balm to her frazzled nerves. The young woman ushered her to the kitchen table, insisting that she had everything under control and producing a cup of chamomile tea as if by magic. Belle sank into a chair and wrapped her hands around the thick, warm pottery with a sigh. Astrid bustled around, folding a load of washing and preparing a small snack for Moe.

"How is he?" Belle asked tiredly, and Astrid smiled over her shoulder.

"Good! We're getting on like a house on fire!" She placed the folded clothes in a laundry basket and gave Belle an uncertain look. "Are you - okay with me coming tomorrow? It's just - you didn't seem to know I'd been hired."

"Oh, no, it's fine!" Belle assured her hastily. "I just had to go and see someone, that was all." She took a sip of her tea. "You leave at ten, right? I should see Papa before you go,"

"Mmm." Astrid gave her a small, amused smile. "You, er - might want to…" She gestured to her neck, and Belle's mouth fell open in horror. Slamming the mug down, she bounced out of her chair to the nearest mirror. Sure enough, there were red marks on her pale skin, and no amount of frenzied rubbing made them look any better. In fact she thought they looked worse.

"Bloody hell!" she muttered, and could hear Astrid chuckling under her breath as she walked back into the kitchen, silently cursing Gold, and her own desires.

"Maybe a scarf?" suggested the nurse. "At least it's almost winter. It won't look weird, and they may be gone tomorrow."

Belle groaned, and Astrid put a sympathetic hand on her arm.

"We've all been there, honey," she said gently. "I guess you haven't had much chance to see your boyfriend lately, huh?"

Belle opened her mouth to say she didn't have one, and closed it again. Astrid's explanation was a reasonable deduction to have made on the facts she was presented with, and Belle saw no reason to disabuse her. Besides, what was the alternative?

"Right," she said weakly, and Astrid grinned at her and carried the pile of washing back up the stairs to put away.

* * *

Belle spent a restless night. Her father had quizzed her about who was paying Astrid and Carella, and she had told him she was looking into it, unsure how to explain the situation. She realised that she was going to have to tell him it was Gold, but she was so far unable to come up with a believable story as to why. Gold might just have to explain it himself. Astrid, fortunately, had no idea who had hired her, merely telling Moe that the agency had informed her the bill for the month had been paid in full, and that he shouldn't worry about it. Belle had to admit that the hoist that Leroy had fitted made things much easier for them, and she got her father into the bath with far less difficulty.

Carella arrived at nine on the dot, looking somewhat fresher than the previous day, and talked Belle through a lesson on atomic structures, giving her some exercises to complete. Belle drew diagrams of carbon atoms, watching Carella as she flicked through the lesson plan for the next couple of weeks, red lips pursed thoughtfully.

"Have you been tutoring long?" asked Belle, and the woman heaved a dramatic sigh, throwing down the paperwork.

"Never had to do it to live, darling, but it's nice to earn an honest dollar here and there," she said, inspecting her beringed fingers. "My idiot of a late husband wasn't anywhere near as rich as he had me believe, and a girl likes her treats."

Belle giggled, a little scandalised, but pointed at the large diamond solitaire on Carella's finger.

"It - looks as though you're over him," she said dryly, and Carella almost preened.

"Yes, well, I'm getting married in December," she said, suddenly coy.

"What does he do?" asked Belle, interested, and Carella grinned.

"She," she corrected. "My darling Ursula. She's a marine biologist, and a damn fine piece of…" She cut off, closing her eyes for a moment. "Well, that's neither here nor there, is it? Can't be corrupting your innocent little mind with tales of _my_ domestic bliss."

Belle snorted in amusement, and Carella smirked, looking extremely self-satisfied. Belle turned back to her work and drew some electrons, before looking up again.

"How do you know Mr Gold?" she asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"Who?" said Carella carelessly, waggling her fingers and making diamonds glitter in the light. Belle gave her a flat look.

"I know he's paying you," she said, and the woman pulled a face.

"Oops, busted!" she said regretfully. "How did you find out? Don't let on _I_ told you, whatever you do."

"I asked him yesterday," said Belle, blushing a little as she remembered exactly how that discussion had gone. "I couldn't think of anyone else who would - I mean, who has the money…" She trailed off, noticing Carella watching her shrewdly.

"Gold's not known for his generosity," she said musingly. "Not to those who don't know him, anyway. Did he make a deal with you? Read the terms, whatever you do, dear."

Belle flushed. "No, nothing like that. He found out about Papa when I didn't show up to class last week. He said…" She frowned, trying to remember his exact words. "He said I shouldn't have to choose between my father and my education."

Carella sniffed. "Sounds like him," she agreed. "He can be very philanthropic when it comes to teaching." She raised her hand with a grin. "Don't tell him I said that, by the way - he hates it when I point out that he's not really a demon in a sharp suit."

Belle rolled her eyes, unable to hold back a fond, if slightly exasperated smile, and causing a knowing smirk from her tutor.

"He does look _rather good_ in those suits, however," acknowledged Carella snidely, and Belle's blush deepened, making the woman chuckle.

"No need to be embarrassed!" she chided. "He scrubs up well, but I haven't forgotten the time I took him out drinking in New York. It's hard to admire someone when they've thrown up on your shoes."

Belle giggled, her blush fading as she tried to imagine Gold in a drunken stupor.

"So, how do you know him?" she asked again, and Carella settled herself a little more comfortably in her chair, crossing her slender legs.

"He worked for my father's pharmaceutical company," she explained. "He was incredible in the lab - the things he would come up with! It was almost like magic. Made Daddy extremely rich, of course, and Gold, quite rightly, was given his share. No one understood why he left and decided to teach, but I always knew that was his real passion." She shrugged. "I guess if you have no financial worries you can pursue your dreams, whatever those may be."

Belle sighed. "I guess," she agreed, a little dolefully. "I'll worry about my dreams when I graduate, I think."

"Then let's get on with it," announced Carella, flapping a hand at her. "Come along, darling! Show me what you've got!"

* * *

Gold was drinking whisky, which had become something of a habit since his first encounter with Belle. He was half-way down his first glass of the evening, seated in his study, a mellow feeling beginning to seep through his body. He had been thinking over his discussion with Belle since the previous day, and was unsure how to proceed. She had at least accepted his help, but reluctantly, and only after she had misunderstood his gesture. He had handled it badly: hell, he had handled _everything_ badly. He rolled the glass between his fingertips, amber liquid sloshing gently, sending tiny patterns of light flickering across the paper in front of him. Sighing to himself, he put the glass down and threw the essay to one side on top of the pile of others that were awaiting his attention. He really needed to mark them before the end of the week, but his mind wasn't on his work. Some of the things she had said had stayed with him, burrowing into his brain like the dark, malignant larvae of some shadow-creature and feeding on his thoughts, growing fat and loathsome in the depths of his mind.

Muttering imprecations under his breath, he stood up, taking his glass with him, and switched off the lamps, intending to go through to the lounge, put on some Debussy, and get gloriously drunk. A knock at the front door jerked him out of his self-pity, and he glared at the door for a second before opening it.

"Evening, sweetie," drawled Carella, smirking at him. "Thought I'd pop by and let you know how my new commission's going." She wagged a finger at him. "You didn't tell me she was a heartbreaker in the making, you bad boy! If only I were ten years younger. And unattached, obviously." She pressed a hand to her chest with a dramatic expression.

"Ten?" queried Gold snidely, and she pouted, tossing her hair.

"Fine, you miserable old hermit, twenty! Stop advertising my advanced age, it's extremely ill-bred!"

Gold sighed, secretly amused.

"Very well, come on in," he said with mock resignation. "I suppose I can spare five minutes."

She pushed past him, and he shut the door with a smirk, following her through to the lounge, the high heels of her red shoes clicking on the wooden floors. She turned to face him, shrugging off her fur coat and dropping it unceremoniously on a chair, and he watched her, taking a sip of his whisky.

"Don't drink alone, darling," said Carella, waving a hand. "Sets a bad precedent."

"Well, if you join me, that won't be an issue, will it?" he said dryly, and held up the bottle. "Alas, I have no gin, you drank what was left of it the last time you were here."

"And you didn't restock? For shame!" She rolled her eyes, but fished out a whisky glass from the cupboard and handed it to him, nodding her thanks at the generous measure he poured before sinking into one of the chairs. He followed her lead, refilling his own glass and laying his cane to the side of him as he sat down. Carella took a drink and made a deep, throaty noise of contentment, wiggling her eyebrows at him and making him return her grin.

"How is the lovely Ursula?" he asked politely, and her smile widened.

"Delicious as ever," she said lasciviously, and gestured at him. "You know, you really ought to think about settling down yourself, instead of sitting here alone night after night in a house that looks like a birthday cake. Waste of a nice tush."

"My tush is none of your business," he said coldly, taking a drink, and she cackled, looking him over.

"I should have set you up with Mal when I had the chance," she said regretfully. "That would have been an absolute _blast_!"

"Trust me, you never had the chance as far as I was concerned," he said. "And I believe Mal's interests tend in other directions."

Carella sniffed. "Her interests tend in _all_ directions, darling, but that's beside the point." She shoved him gently with the pointed toe of her red shoe, pouting. "Come on, Rum! Indulge a girl! You can't come to my wedding dateless!"

"I can and I will," he said firmly. "And if you don't drop it your present will be a bucket of fish heads from Storybrooke docks."

Carella rolled her eyes with a long-suffering sigh, and he smirked at her, sipping his whisky.

"How is Miss French getting along?" he asked indifferently, and she pursed her lips.

"Very well, on the whole," she said musingly. "It took her a little time to get her head around molecular structures, and she's behind where I would have expected her to be at this age."

He grunted. "The entire _class_ is behind," he said, irritated. "I have no idea what my predecessor was teaching them, but it wasn't anything they needed to know."

"Well, she's a bright girl," acknowledged Carella. "She picks things up quickly. She'll easily pass, at the rate she's going." She took a drink of the whisky, and raised her glass. "Bloody good, if I may say so, darling."

Gold inclined his head in acknowledgement, and she relaxed a little further in her chair, letting out a sigh. She watched him, amusement in her eyes.

"If I didn't know better I'd think she had a bit of a crush on you," she added, and he frowned.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said repressively, making her giggle.

"Oh, don't worry, I doubt she'll come over and jump on you," she assured him.

"I'm glad to hear it," he remarked. "I'm sure Miss French has far better things to do with her time than pine after the likes of me."

"Oh, don't be so self-effacing," scoffed Carella. "Doesn't suit you. You have to accept that if you're going to teach teenage girls and wear a sharp suit, some of them will inevitably want to have sex with you. They're all hormonal time-bombs waiting to go off and sneak into your bed."

"Well, I wouldn't know," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I trust you're speaking from personal experience."

Carella smirked, taking a drink. "That's between me, you, and Mr Firkins of St Leonard's Sixth Form College, darling."

Gold snorted. "No doubt you ruined the man."

"Only for all other women," she said proudly, grinning widely. "Anyway, my point is, schoolgirl crushes are to be expected in your line of work. It's all about how you handle it."

"I no longer teach Miss French," he pointed out. "That's your territory now, dearie. Perhaps you should take your own advice."

Carella snorted derisively, and looked him over.

"I must say, I can see her point of view," she said agreeably. "You're looking very good for a bitter and twisted old bastard. Not my type, though."

"A filthy-rich septuagenarian with a heart condition?" he said dryly, and she pressed a hand to her chest with an expression of mock hurt.

"Cause of death was entirely natural, darling, as you're well aware," she said severely, and he chuckled.

"When's the wedding?" he asked then, and she smiled.

"December the thirtieth," she said briskly, and waved a hand at his furrowed brow. "I know, I know! I actually wanted it on Christmas Eve. Never been one for festivities, but Ursula said no one would come. I thought the day before New Year's Eve would be fine, though."

"Guests?" he asked, and she pulled a face.

"Most of my friends can make it. A few old lags from the company. You should know most of them, I think. Mal, of course. You, and whoever you want to invite." She looked at him over the top of her glass, eyes glinting mischievously.

"I'm not bringing a date," he said evenly, and she sighed.

"So, bring a friend! Bring someone nice to look at, save me having to look at you all evening."

"I'll think about it," he said, and nodded to her glass. "Top up?"

"Not if I want to drive home," she said regretfully, and he shrugged.

"So I'll call you a cab. Stay, have another."

"Tempting, darling." She drained the glass and pushed herself to her feet. "But Ursula's making dinner tonight, and if I'm not back in time I won't get to eat - anything." She waggled her eyebrows, and he closed his eyes with a pained expression, making her chuckle deeply as she pulled on her coat.

"Give her my regards," he said formally, showing her to the door. The night air was cold when he opened it, and Carella clutched her coat around herself with an elaborate shudder.

"And keep me informed of Miss French's progress," added Gold. "I want to be sure the arrangement is working for her."

"I will." She leaned in to kiss his cheek, a faint whiff of cigarettes, whisky and Chanel No 5 drifting into his nose as she did so. "I'll be sure and monitor that developing crush of hers, don't you worry."

He grimaced, and she chuckled again, pinching his rear as she sauntered out and making him jump and scowl after her.

* * *

Moe had a restful night, for which Belle was grateful. The extra care that Astrid provided not only meant that she was able to get on with her schoolwork and the housework, but also that Moe got to interact with another person. Astrid was lovely: bright, bubbly, and filled with natural empathy and enthusiasm, a lust for life which was infectious. Moe was more cheerful than Belle had seen him in months, and she was thankful for it, for the help and for the bright atmosphere that Astrid seemed to create wherever she went. As a consequence, both she and her father slept well on the Thursday evening after Astrid had gone, and Belle felt rested the next morning. She made breakfast for her father, porridge and fresh fruit, with tea and orange juice, hoping that his good mood might have improved his appetite.

"I still want to know who's paying for this, darling," he said, as she set the tray up for him. "I don't want you left with debts after I'm gone."

Belle hesitated. "I'm looking into it," she said, aware that she couldn't keep stalling forever. "Maybe I'll find something out today."

Moe grunted, picking up a piece of sliced pear and looking at it unenthusiastically.

"Maybe I'll phone the agency, ask them who arranged it," he said.

"Now, I don't want you tiring yourself out with detective work," she said firmly, making him smile. "I'll find out, I promise. You just focus on being good for Astrid, okay? We'll have a nice dinner tonight. I could make your favourite."

"Lamb chops," he sighed blissfully. "Not sure I could do them justice, sweetheart."

"Well, I guess we'll find out," she said. "I'll leave a list for Astrid, she can pick up what I need while I'm at school."

"You're too good to me," he said quietly, and she leant in to kiss his cheek.

"Don't be silly. I'll see you later. No flirting with Astrid." She wagged a finger at him, and left him chuckling.

* * *

She had to get to school early, as she had arranged to change her History lesson from Wednesday morning to early on Friday morning instead, so she was unable to call in at Granny's to collect Ruby. She thought about Gold as she walked briskly in the crisp morning air, about what she would do about her father, and came to a decision. Due to lessons, she was unable to put her plan into action until morning break, and as soon as she left English class she trotted up the stairs to the teacher's offices, hoping that he would be in. She hesitated outside his room, somehow able to sense him beyond the door, a heaviness in the air around her, the atmosphere strangely thick. Raising an unsure hand, she knocked smartly at the door.

"Come in," he announced, and she pushed open the door and slipped inside, pushing it shut behind her. Gold looked up from behind his desk, lifting an eyebrow in surprise.

"Belle," he said pleasantly. "What are you doing here?"

"You need to tell my father it was you," she said without preamble, and he frowned slightly, before she lifted a hand. "I don't mean _us_ , I mean Astrid and Carella. He's worrying himself sick over the possibility that I might be left with debts when he...I mean…" She stumbled over the words.

"Of course," he interrupted, saving her the burden of mentioning her father's death. "You want me to speak to him. Would tonight be acceptable?"

Belle heaved a sigh of relief. "Yes, thank you. Can you come around seven-thirty? I need to make dinner, but we tend to eat at six." She cut off, suddenly unsure of herself. "That wasn't - I mean, I can't really invite you…"

"I understand," he said gently. "I eat later, anyway."

She smiled a little tremulously, not looking at his eyes in case they caught and held her, in case her resolve crumbled. Instead she looked at a point in front of him, concentrating on his hands, on the way they were poised on the desk, a fountain pen rolling lazily between his finger and thumb, nails clean and manicured. She remembered how his hands felt on her, how his fingers had pushed up inside her, and pulled back hastily.

"Seven-thirty, then," she repeated, flicking her eyes up to his, and his mouth twitched,

"I'll be there," he confirmed, and she nodded awkwardly.

"Okay, then," she said, and ducked back out, closing the door behind her with a sigh and taking a deep breath. Her heart was thumping. She had not thought about what it might be like to see him in school, to see him in the place where he'd first kissed her, where he'd touched her. Part of her wanted to open the door and fall into his arms, but another part of her was still angry over him going behind her back, still awkward over a sense of obligation for what he had done for her. She was unsure how best to deal with her conflicting emotions, and she figured that trying to keep some distance between them would help.

Pushing away from the door, she hugged her bag of books to her chest and made her way back down the stairs and towards her classroom. Ruby shot her a quizzical look as she slid into her seat, and Belle sent her an absent smile, not wanting to explain where she had been.

"Study tonight?" she asked, and Belle shook her head.

"I want to make sure Dad's settled with Astrid before I spend too much time away," she explained, and Ruby nodded.

"Tomorrow, then," she suggested, and Belle agreed, opening up her notebook as Mr Heller, the English teacher, swept into the classroom, whistling tunelessly.

She had hesitated over telling the girls of her unexpected help, finally deciding to feign ignorance and say that she assumed her father's insurance had been more generous than she thought. She hated lying to her friends, but she couldn't think of anyone in Storybrooke who would believe her if she said that Mr Gold had decided, apparently on a whim, to be incredibly generous. Except Carella, apparently, but they were clearly old friends, and Belle had not seen the woman before; she obviously lived outside the town with her fiancée.

* * *

She hurried home after school, stopping briefly for a milkshake with the girls at Granny's. She wanted to make sure that dinner was cooked and eaten before Gold got there. As she got to the house, Dr Whale was just leaving, having made one of his twice-weekly visits. He smiled at Belle, and motioned for her to follow him to his car.

"How is he?" asked Belle anxiously, and Whale pursed his lips.

"He seems brighter," he acknowledged. "Getting help in was a good idea, Belle, you know I've been saying that for a while now."

Belle nodded, a little exasperated. It was all very well for _him_ to say that.

"I've changed his medication," added Whale. "A stronger painkiller. He doesn't need morphine yet, but you have to understand that it's only a matter of time."

He looked sympathetic, and Belle nodded sadly. She had known that for a while now.

"If he has any problems with the pills, let me know," said Whale. "I left the bottle with your nurse - she's aware of the side-effects to look out for."

"Thank you, Dr Whale," said Belle, feeling a little despondent.

She sighed and let herself into the house, leaning back against the door momentarily before steeling herself and pushing upright, calling out a greeting. Going through to the kitchen, she peeled off her jacket and the thin scarf she had donned, and draped them over a chair, rolling up her sleeves to start the dinner.

Astrid had bought the lamb chops, and Belle set about preparing the meal while the young woman gave Moe a bath and shave. Astrid was delighted to be asked to eat with them, and the three of them clustered around Moe's bed with the dish of chops, greens, roast potatoes, and thick rosemary and redcurrant sauce.

"Just a small portion for me," said Astrid hastily. "I want to eat with my husband when I get home."

"What does Leroy do when you're out late?" asked Belle, interested, and Astrid chewed a mouthful of lamb, her eyes twinkling.

"Watches sports, mainly," she admitted. "It's a good arrangement; I get to do the job I love, and I don't have to pretend to be interested in what his teams are doing."

Belle giggled, and Astrid took a bite of potato.

"This is really good," she said. "I think Leroy would like this."

"How long have you guys been together?" asked Belle, and Astrid blushed.

"Oh, about three years. I almost fell off a step-ladder at the nuns' fundraiser and he caught me. It was very romantic."

Moe almost choked on a piece of lamb. "Were you a nun?" he asked, and she laughed.

"No, I just went to them for help to get out of a bad situation, that's all. Leroy was the first guy I met who treated me like - like I wanted to be treated. I had to drop some pretty big hints before he asked me out, but we got there eventually." Her face softened, becoming even sweeter, and Belle smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

"He's a lucky man," said Moe sincerely, and settled back in his bed with a sigh, turning his head to Belle. "That was delicious, sweetheart, but I can't manage any more."

"You did well," Belle assured him, clearing away his plate. "Could you manage dessert?"

He wrinkled his nose, and she nodded, knowing not to push him when he'd made up his mind. He had eaten more than he had in days, though, and she was pleased.

"Let me get those," said Astrid quickly, picking up the dishes before Belle could move. "You cooked, I'll wash." She was out of the room before Belle could protest, and Moe chuckled at his daughter's exasperated face.

"She's amazing," he said fondly. "I have the best company a man could wish for, what with the two of you flitting around like angels." He settled himself a little more, and eyed Belle. "Now, darling, did you manage to find out anything about who's paying for this?"

Belle hesitated, hoping she wouldn't blush.

"I did," she admitted, and flicked her eyes up at him. "It was Mr Gold."

Moe's brow furrowed. "Your teacher? Why would he do that?"

"I…" Belle hesitated. "I'm not sure. He said he didn't want me giving up my studies. Carella says he's very philanthropic when it comes to teaching."

"Well…" Moe scratched the back of his head uncertainly. "I don't know, Belle, it seems an awful lot to ask of a stranger…"

"I know," she said quickly. "I spoke to him today. I - asked him to come and talk to you about it, because I didn't think you'd be happy with the idea."

Moe looked _far_ from happy, but nodded, and Belle looked at her watch.

"He should be here soon," she added, scrambling up. "I'd better…" She gestured towards the doorway, unsure what to say, and he nodded, smoothing the bedclothes around himself as she left.

* * *

Belle found that she was nervous. They had finished their dinner more quickly than she had anticipated, and once Astrid had washed the dishes and Belle had put them away, she found herself at a loose end. Astrid went back upstairs, saying she was going to give Moe his medication, and Belle got out her books, trying to do a little study, unable to concentrate on anything. The inevitable knock at the door came as something of a relief, and she bounced out of her seat at the kitchen table to answer it. Her fingers shook, the handle strangely awkward in her hand, but she pulled it open, the darkness outside broken only by the lamp at the end of the street.

"Good evening, Miss French," said Gold calmly, and she swallowed. He was dressed in his usual armour, in his three-piece suit and a silk shirt in a red so dark it was almost black, a silk tie two or three shades lighter around his neck. He wore a black wool overcoat against the chilly night air, his hair a little tousled by the breeze, and she dropped her eyes, focusing on his hands, on the dark, shining length of his cane.

"May I come in?" he asked, when she didn't say anything, and she stepped mutely to the side, holding open the door and watching him sweep past her into the house. She shut the door, turning to face him. The hallway seemed unnaturally close with the two of them in it, and she imagined that she could feel the heat coming from his body. She swallowed hard, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"Are you well?" he asked gently, and she nodded, glancing up at him. He was watching her intently, and she could feel her breath quickening, her heart beginning to thump. He put his head to the side, his expression curious, and raised his hand, as though he were about to touch her. She pulled back, away from him, stumbling a little, and he dropped his hand immediately with a twisted little smile.

"You have something on your shirt," he said, and she looked down at herself, sighing as she saw a drizzle of sauce there. Dammit.

"You'd better follow me," she said, making for the staircase. She heard the creak of the stairs behind her as they climbed, a prickling at the back of her neck, as though his eyes were on her.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter got away from me. I've split it, because otherwise it would be ridiculously long. Good news is, I have written quite a lot of the next one because of that.**

 **Next time: Gold and Moe have a conversation.**


	6. Solace

**A/N: Thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement. I've been overwhelmed by the response to this fic and I'm so grateful. You'll be pleased to know (possibly) that there will be smut in this chapter.**

 **Ripperblackstaff prompted: "** **Belle's father sees something in Gold that makes him worry for his daughter"**

* * *

Moe was very tired, but he tried his best not to slip into his usual after-dinner nap, knowing that he would be receiving a visitor. He knew little of Belle's teacher, he realised, having seen him only once the previous week, on the shadowed landing, and having not spoken with him. He knew that the man was what Belle had described, after some hesitation, as firm but fair. Which probably meant that everyone else would call him a bastard.

Moe wasn't sure how to take his surprising generosity. He had not thought that teachers made very much money, so unless the man was independently wealthy, he didn't see how he could afford it. Most of all, though, he worried for Belle. He didn't want her being in any more debt than she had to be. It was bad enough that his insurance wouldn't pay for everything, leaving his teenage daughter to take on the responsibility of caring for him, without her being left with bills to pay after his inevitable end.

He had come to terms with the fact that he wasn't going to see her graduate, or go off to college, or get married, or place his first grandchild in his arms. When Whale had told him, gravely, that the cancer had spread from his kidneys to his liver, he had known with a creeping dread that it was only a matter of time. What little they had left, he wanted her to enjoy. He had been experiencing more pain than usual, try to hide it though he did, but Astrid had given his face one shrewd look that morning and had tattled on him to Dr Whale. The doctor had been adamant in the change of painkillers, and Moe had to admit that he felt better, if a little light-headed. Whale had said to expect that. He sighed, trying to get more comfortable in the bed, but was roused by the sound of footsteps.

"Go on through." Belle's voice. "Papa? Mr Gold's come to talk to you, okay?"

"Could I trouble you for some tea, Miss French?" A man's voice, quiet and calm. There was an accent there, although he couldn't place it. Moe blinked hard and looked over at the door.

The colours in his vision seemed to move and blur, shadows growing and reaching towards him, and the shape of a man flowed out of them, clad in black. Moe's heart thumped, a sudden fear rising in him.

"Mr French?"

Moe blinked hard, and it was only a man, not some shadow-creature. A man in a black suit and coat, a dark shirt and tie, with hair that brushed his shoulders. Mr Gold was dressed impeccably, a gold-handled cane grounded in front of him. He was short, Moe realised. Far shorter than him, and thin, but he held himself in a way that made him seem powerful. Dangerous.

"So," said Moe uncertainly. "My daughter tells me I have you to thank for Astrid, and for her tutor."

Gold shrugged, lifting one shoulder and dropping it, as though it were of no matter.

"Consider me your benefactor," he said. Scottish, that was it. Softer than Moe had heard on the television, but still there.

"It's very generous of you, Mr Gold, but I'm not sure I feel comfortable accepting," said Moe stiffly. "Belle's been through enough."

"On that we can agree," said Gold quietly, and Moe grunted.

"Well, as much as I appreciate the offer, I want to protect her as much as I can," he said. "I don't want her left with a bunch of debts she can't pay."

Gold showed his teeth. Perhaps it was meant to be a smile, but to Moe it seemed more like a grimace, a challenge. He had a gold tooth on the left hand side, and the light winked off it as he flicked his hair back.

"No debts," he said. "Miss French owes me nothing, and nor do you, I promise."

Moe regarded him, frowning, feeling uncomfortable lying there in his pyjamas when Gold was wearing a suit that probably cost as much as his mortgage payment. Maybe three times as much. Gold returned the gaze steadily.

"Why me?" asked Moe eventually, hoping the man would be straight with him. He was too weary to get into a lengthy discussion. Gold took a step nearer the bed, the light glinting on his hair and the gold cufflinks at his wrists.

"Miss French is a promising student," he said quietly. "And without wishing to be vulgar, I have plenty of money. I can afford it."

"That doesn't answer my question, mate," said Moe gruffly, and Gold nodded.

"I know what it is to come from nothing, to fight for everything you have," he said. "I see no reason she should have to do that when I can help her."

Moe grunted. "Is teaching paying well, these days?" he asked sceptically, and Gold smiled briefly.

"I was head of research for a major pharmaceutical company before I began teaching," he explained. "I still retain a sizeable stake in that company. Enough to support my property portfolio, which in turn supports me very well. Money is not an issue, Mr French, I assure you."

"And Belle?" Moe scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. "What does she say?"

"She wasn't happy that I arranged it without telling her,"admitted Gold. "But she has now accepted my help. I think it's important to her that you do too."

"Hmm. Don't leave me much choice, do you?" grumbled Moe, thinking the man was a manipulative bastard, if a generous one. He hesitated, but put out his hand. "I'd be an idiot to turn you down, of course. Thank you, Mr Gold."

"No matter." Gold shook his hand, and his head turned at the sound of clinking china. He pulled away, stepping smoothly to the door to hold it open for Belle and the tea tray. She looked between the two of them uncertainly, and Moe sent her a smile to ease her mind. She quickly set down the tray, and Moe observed Gold, who had moved off to the side to sit in the chair she normally took. He was looking at the floor, absent-mindedly rolling the cane between his hands, but occasionally he would glance up, his gaze fixed on Belle for a moment. Moe watched as she poured the tea, adding milk and two sugars to his (diabetes was now the least of his worries) and setting it on the lap tray that had recently held his dinner. He smiled as he saw that she had set a cookie on the side for him. Not that he felt like eating it, but for her, he would try.

"Just a little milk, thank you," said Gold, and Belle nodded, adding a dash of milk to his cup and handing it to him. The cup rattled in the saucer until he took it from her, and then she poured one for herself, moving away from the two of them to lean against the chest of drawers, steaming cup held in front of her chest like a shield.

"I hear Astrid is settling in well," said Gold, making conversation, and Moe shared a glance with Belle.

"She's wonderful," he said. "I couldn't ask for better help."

"Excellent." Gold sipped his tea, glancing up at Belle. Moe saw that she was still hiding behind her cup, not meeting his eyes.

"Sweetheart," he said gently. "I've spoken with Mr Gold, and he's confirmed that you won't owe him anything after I go. I don't want you to be worried about this, okay?"

"I wasn't," she muttered, but she was still concentrating on her tea. Gold was watching her, and she seemed to feel his regard, fidgeting a little in the way she did when she was uncomfortable. Gold held the porcelain cup delicately between finger and thumb and sipped his tea, brown eyes flicking over the room, across to meet Moe's, back to Belle.

"How's the study going?" asked Moe, feeling the atmosphere thicken strangely, and unable to account for it. Did she dislike the man? Was she afraid of him? She had not seemed so, earlier. Perhaps she was uncomfortable with the size of the gift he had given them. So was he, in all honesty, but if it meant that his daughter could enjoy some of her time and not suffer because of him, he was all for it, despite the injury to his pride. He decided that pride could go to hell. Pride would not care for Belle when he was gone.

"Good," said Belle, her face brightening a little as she turned to him. "Carella's a great teacher."

"As good as Mr Gold, here?" joked Moe, and she blushed, her mouth working awkwardly.

"Oh, I have no doubt that Carella puts me in the shade," admitted Gold. "She has a far more likeable personality, wouldn't you agree, Miss French?"

Belle didn't answer, so Moe turned to Gold.

"Have you known her long?" he asked, and Gold shrugged.

"About fifteen years. I knew her father first, through work. She inherited his flair for chemistry. She's certainly more than capable of getting Miss French up to the standard necessary to do well in her finals."

"Good," said Moe, relieved. "That's good. I worry."

Belle shot him a fond, if slightly exasperated look, and he busied himself with drinking his tea. There was a moment of silence. He was feeling more lightheaded, and somewhat insubstantial, as though he were about to drift away into nothingness. Belle put her cup back in her saucer, a look of concern on her face.

"Papa?" she asked, and he shook his head, putting his cup down on the tray. He was feeling very strange, and Belle seemed to sense it. She went to put her cup down, and Gold stood up, perplexed.

"I'm getting Astrid," she muttered, and walked swiftly from the room. Gold watched her leave, his eyes dark with something Moe couldn't define. Hunger, perhaps. His heart thumped with anxiety, the room suddenly feeling too small, too close and oppressive. Gold put his cup carefully down on the tray she had brought, the tea half-drunk, liquid sloshing a little.

"Are you alright, Mr French?" he asked, moving closer to the bed. The dark red silk shirt gleamed in the light, and Moe's mind was suddenly filled with terror, the dark wet sheen of spreading blood in a night-shrouded alley, pain and loss. Shadows seemed to drip from the man, running down his arms to flow from his fingers. He grinned at Moe, but his smile was that of a wolf's and his jaw distended, blood pouring from his mouth. Moe let out a yell of fright, pushing at the bedclothes, trying to get away.

"Demon!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with fear. "It's a bloody demon!"

The shadows leapt at him, surrounding him, and he struggled fiercely, trying to free his legs from whatever was binding them, trying to run, to find Belle, to save her.

"Papa!" He was aware of Belle putting a hand on his arm, and he wanted to scream at her to go, to run, but he was still thrashing. Dimly he noticed Astrid coming in at a run and saying something in an urgent tone before darkness took him.

* * *

Gold telephoned Doctor Whale, his voice calm as Belle fretted and Astrid tried to settle Moe more comfortably in bed. He had upended the lap tray, spilling what remained of his tea, but he seemed to pass out, and Astrid straightened the bedclothes and checked his temperature and blood pressure.

"Probably the new meds," she said quietly, squeezing Belle's shoulder. "Dr Whale said there would be side-effects."

Belle nodded wordlessly, and picked up the fallen cup and saucer, stacking everything on the tray and sweeping from the room. Gold stood for a moment, feeling a little useless, but then bid goodnight to Astrid and made his way down the stairs. From the sounds of running water and the tinkle of china, she was in the kitchen, and he walked in slowly, the sound of his cane seeming abnormally loud on the tiled floor. Belle was washing the dishes, scrubbing harder than he thought was necessary at the teacups. Her hair bounced and swayed as she worked, dark curls shining in the light.

"I called Doctor Whale," he said, and she jumped, turning to face him with wide, frightened eyes. The teacup she was holding in wet hands slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with an ominous crash.

"Shit!" she swore, and dropped to her knees, but he had moved quickly, squatting down, his fingers curling around the flower-patterned china, now broken beyond repair.

"Let me," he said quietly, gathering up the pieces, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, squeezing her eyes shut as a sob escaped her. Soap suds clung to her hair and ran down her pale wrist, a myriad of tiny rainbow-coated bubbles within the white foam.

"Hey," he said gently. "It's just a cup, Belle. No harm done."

He reached out to touch her, to comfort her, but she pulled violently away from him, lurching to her feet and scrabbling under the sink for a bag to place the broken pieces in. He dropped them in without a word, and she wrapped up the bag with arms that were stiff and rigid, not looking at him. He had backed off, not wanting to crowd her. She was trying to put distance between them, and that was good. No matter how much it hurt.

"Whale should be here soon," he said.

She was clutching the garbage bag, black plastic rustling and squeaking as she hugged it to her as though it gave her comfort. She looked to be on the edge of tears, her lower lip wobbling, and his heart ached for her. He felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her, to take her in his arms and hold her close, to protect her from the hurt she was feeling.

"Belle," he said softly, reaching for her, and she flinched away, raising one slender shoulder against him. She shook her head, throwing the bag in the trash and folding her arms around herself, not looking at him.

"Please go," she whispered, and he nodded, dropping his hand.

"Of course." He hesitated, wanting to offer her something more, a higher level of care for her father, perhaps. Another nurse. The set of her jaw made him realise that she would take nothing further from him. It was probably for the best.

* * *

Belle heard him leave, heard the door close quietly behind him, and she turned back to the dishes, finally able to break down. She sobbed quietly as she washed the remaining cups and saucers. The sight of her father, thrashing and terrified, a shell of what he had been; it was too much. She had felt helpless, out of her depth. It would get worse, she knew that. It would get much, much worse, before he breathed his last, and the thought terrified her. The end was coming for him, and she wasn't sure if she would be able to cope when it did.

She could hear Astrid moving around upstairs, and dashed away tears with the heels of her hands, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Doctor Whale would arrive soon, and she didn't want to be an emotional wreck when he did. She busied herself with drying the dishes and putting them away, and when the knock came at the door she was relatively calm.

Whale dealt with her father with his usual detached efficiency, and his manner helped to ease Belle's mind. Moe had woken, and started babbling about shadows and demons and blood in the alleyway, none of which made any sense to Belle. Whale gave him a sedative, and Belle squeezed his hand as he slipped into a deep sleep.

"He was yelling about demons when I came in," ventured Astrid, looking worried.

"Hallucinations, I expect," nodded Whale. "Not unheard of with that medication. His heart rate is also elevated. Let me prescribe something else. In the meantime, give him his old painkillers." He wrote a prescription and tore it off the pad he held, handing it to Belle between finger and thumb.

"I believe the Dark Star pharmacy is open until nine," he added. "But he'll be out for the rest of the night. "You could wait until morning."

Belle hesitated. "No," she said decidedly. "No, I'll go. He needs them."

Whale nodded. "Well, I have another call to make," he offered. "I could drop you at the pharmacy."

Belle gave him a grateful look, and shot a glance at Astrid, who smiled at her reassuringly, patting Moe's lifeless hand.

* * *

Tom Clark gave her the prescription, and a kind smile, and Belle clutched the paper bag to her chest as she left the pharmacy and set off back down the street. Storybrooke had little in the way of nightlife, and there were few people about at this hour, the majority at home eating a late dinner, or watching TV. Ruby would be at Emma's house, or the other way around, and as much as Belle loved her friends, she didn't want their company tonight. Their support, their sympathy, was not what she needed. She hurried along, head down, her body feeling heavy, as though it was filled with tears she couldn't seem to shed.

She turned, almost without thinking, into the road which led to the pink Victorian house. Her heart rate was rising as she walked, her breath quickening. She marched up the path resolutely and knocked on the door, hearing music coming from inside that she didn't recognise, the droning, whiny voice of a man and the intermittent sound of a harmonica. Gold sure had eclectic tastes. She saw the light change in the hallway, the blurred creep of shadow towards her, and she realised that she was poised on her toes. Dropping back onto her heels and letting her hand drop, she waited for him to open the door, chewing her lip.

Gold pulled open the door, and the music spilled out: Bob Dylan. Of course. She could recognise it now. He was in his shirtsleeves, tie discarded, a glass of red wine on the hall table. The dark red shirt suited him, warm against his skin. Warm, and somehow malevolent. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his forearms bare: fine, silky hair reflecting the light. He looked tired, his eyes shadowed, his hair a little unkempt, but her abdomen clenched at the sight of him, at the slight hint of stubble on his chin and the warm light of the hall lamps throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"Belle," he said quietly, and dropped his eyes, looking away from her.

"Hey," she said, a little breathlessly. "I - uh…" She trailed off. She wasn't just in the area. She wasn't just passing. She wasn't just dropping by to say hi.

"How is your father?" he asked, and she swallowed, her jaw working a little.

"Dr Whale gave him a sedative," she said. "It was a reaction to the painkillers. I got him some different ones." She clutched the bag, paper rustling, and Gold nodded. He heaved a sigh, his jaw tightening a little.

"You should go," he whispered. "I told you, you don't owe me anything. Go home."

He made to shut the door, but she slapped her hand against it, her palm smacking against the wood sharply, skin smarting a little with the impact.

"Don't," she said softly. "Please, can I come in?"

He raised his head, finally looking at her, his face drawn, heavy with sadness.

"Why?" he asked pleadingly. "You had the right of it the other night. You had the measure of me." He let his head fall against the door despondently, a dull thud as it knocked against the ash frame.

"You're sixteen," he added. "You're a child, Belle. Which makes me a monster."

"You're not a monster," she said stubbornly, and he barked a short, humourless laugh.

"Really?" he asked dryly. "I believe everyone in this town would disagree with you. Not to mention our beloved justice system."

"Do you think I care what people think?" she demanded. "Were any of them lining up to help me when you did?"

"Did any of them know?" he countered, and she shook her head.

"That's not the point. You helped me when you didn't have to. You helped Papa. You wouldn't do that if you didn't care about me."

"Of course I care!" he snapped. "That's why I'm trying to protect you."

"That's not what I need from you," she said steadily, and he sighed again, briefly running a hand over his face.

"Belle, go home," he said wearily. "Please, just go. I can't do this."

Belle took a deep breath. He had turned his head away again, his eyes full of pain, not wanting to see her leave. One of them would have to do the brave thing, and it seemed it would have to be her. She pushed the door open and slipped past him, making him stumble a little. She fixed her eyes on the stairs and began walking, making her way determinedly up six or seven before she turned. He was watching her, his face expressionless, mouth set in a grim line. He looked as though he was about to throw her out, and she decided not to give him the chance. She put a hand on her hip, raising her eyebrow.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked, and, turning away, continued climbing the stairs. There was a moment or two of silence, in which her heart thumped high in her chest, waiting for him to call her back, to tell her to leave, but then she heard the door close and the tread of his feet behind her, and she smiled to herself. She reached the top of the stairs, unsure which way to turn, but she saw that one of the doors was open a crack, so she made for that, pushing open the door. It appeared she had chosen the right one. The room was decorated in a deep pink, with antique furniture that had clearly been chosen for its beauty. Pride of place was a bed draped with red sheets and a silk throw, the enormous headboard elaborately carved. It made her want to run her fingers along the loops and whorls, to follow its curves and hollows. She set her bag and the prescription down on the walnut dresser beside her as she heard Gold's footsteps.

"I take it this is your room," she said, not turning around.

"Yes." His voice was quiet, almost sad, but there was a strange energy to it, something that made her breath catch and her skin hum, like electricity in the air before a storm. She shrugged off her jacket before she could lose her nerve, draping it over the chair in front of the dresser. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, wineglass in hand, watching her.

"I have protection," she said. "If that's what worries you. After last time - well, I figured better to be prepared, right?"

He said nothing, and she felt her heart thump, sure he was about to tell her to go, so she dug in her bag, her hands shaking a little, and placed two condoms on the dresser. She felt like a poker player in a game with high stakes, finally showing her hand after half an hour of bluffing and misdirection. Turning slightly, she finally looked at him, and saw that he was eyeing the little plastic squares with something like resignation. Belle swallowed hard.

"Please," she whispered, and he swept his eyes up to meet hers.

"Why ask this of me?" he said quietly. "You're a beautiful girl, Belle. Why not find a boyfriend, someone your own age?"

"I don't want that!" she insisted. "I'm not interested in anyone at school, except - except you."

He dropped his eyes, drawing circles in the air with his wine glass, the red liquid sloshing within. His jaw was tight, and she took a step closer, which made him look up, suddenly wary.

"What is it?" she whispered. "I want you. I know you want me."

His eyes seemed to darken, his breath hardening, and he put down his glass.

"I do," he growled. "I do, God help me."

"Then what's the problem?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"I need the strength to give you up, and - I don't have it, sweetheart," he pleaded, tapping his hand against his chest. "I'm - I'm weak! I'm a coward!"

She looked at him steadily, and placed her hands on his shoulders.

"I don't need you to be strong for me," she said softly. "I don't need you to push me away for my own good. I just want you to make me forget, do you understand? I want you to make me _feel_."

His jaw had slackened a little when she touched him, and she let her hands slip down to his chest. She could feel the thump of his heart against her palm, the heat of his body through the thin silk, and she stepped closer, so that she was pressed up against him. He didn't back away. She could feel his breath, cool against her face, and his free hand moved slowly up to rest at her waist.

"Kiss me," she whispered, and then his mouth was on hers, the taste of wine on his tongue and his scent drifting into her. She twined her arms around his neck, her fingers stroking his soft hair, her tongue moving against his. His cane hit the floor, both hands sliding down her body to cup her rear and pull her closer, and she gasped into his mouth as she felt him, hard against her, wanting her. She rolled her hips, rubbing against him, and he groaned, a deep, rumbling sound that called to her, that made her want to claw the shirt from his back and have him take her hard and fast. Instead she pulled back, feeling a certain satisfaction in the tiny noise of protest from him as she broke the kiss. She stepped out of his embrace, turning around to present him with her back.

"Unzip me," she said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then she felt his touch on the back of her neck, the warmth of his fingertips. His hands were shaking. He drew down the zipper of her dress, the sound strangely loud in the quiet of the bedroom, the only other noise their laboured breathing. His hands slipped beneath the dark blue cotton of her dress, sliding across her shoulders and making her shiver, pushing the material so that the dress slipped down her arms and pooled on the floor at her feet. Belle shivered a little, feeling exposed, her cheeks flushing. She reminded herself that he had already seen everything there was to see. She kicked off the flats she was wearing, standing in her underwear, her arms folded protectively around her middle.

Gold studied her back, eyes running over her pale curves, her mahogany curls. He was weak. He was the lowest of the low, and he was absolutely certain that this was going to come back to bite him at some point, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Belle stood patiently, awaiting his attentions, and he flicked open the clasp of her bra, letting the black straps fall from her shoulders. She was only wearing panties, plain black briefs that hugged her pert little buttocks. He wondered if she was already wet, if her delicious scent was already covering that black cotton, and he slipped his thumbs into the waistband, drawing the panties down over her hips and thighs. She stepped out of them, and he straightened up, the panties hooked over one forefinger. He could see the gleam of moisture on them, the proof of her desire for his touch, and he brought the soft cotton to his face, inhaling her scent, her sweet musk. He was hard, straining against his underwear, and he dropped the panties, pressing himself against her back and wrapping his arm around her waist.

He turned them both, which was easier having her to lean on a little, until they were facing the free-standing mirror next to the wardrobe. Belle's eyes widened at the sight, at her nakedness, her pale perfection broken only by his arm, encircling her possessively. He locked eyes with her in the mirror, and swept her hair to the side, lowering his mouth to press kisses along her shoulder and back up to her neck. His tongue swirled over her pulse point, and Belle moaned, arching back against him.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "So perfect, my brave little lioness." His teeth nipped at her earlobe, and his arm loosened, hand stroking over the curve of her belly and down between her legs. He probed, finding creamy fluid, and he let out a groan as his fingers slid against her tender flesh. Belle moaned again, her head rolling back, and he continued to kiss her, his finger and thumb gently pinching her clit, making her jerk in his arms before he went back to rubbing her, circling the tiny bud of nerves, feeling how it was already swollen with her need. His other hand slipped to her breast, squeezing it, and he pressed himself against her, rubbing his cock against her rear in a vain attempt to provide a little relief. He slipped a finger inside her, pushing upwards, this thumb continuing to rub her, and Belle unfurled her arms, reaching up to slide her fingers into his hair as he kissed her, as he sank his teeth into the back of her neck and made her squirm. He could feel her building towards orgasm, her body tensing in his arms, her face flushing, and he licked up the side of her neck to her ear.

" _That's_ it, my sweet," he breathed. "Good girl. Let it come."

He slipped a second finger inside her, pinching at her nipple with his other hand, and Belle broke with a cry, her legs buckling so that he had to hold her up. His teeth nipped her, and he pressed kisses along her neck, fingers still working her as she let out tiny cries, jerking against his hand. She turned her head to capture his lips with hers, the kiss made messy by the angle, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. He pulled his fingers from her and she turned in his arms, pressing against him, kissing him hungrily. His pushed his wet fingers through her hair, spreading the scent of her pleasure until it surrounded him, his tongue probing her mouth. He wanted to taste her, to lick the cum from inside her, to bring her over the edge once more and drink her down. He pulled his mouth free, his breath coming hard and fast.

"The bed," he growled. "Get on the bed, Miss French. Don't turn down the sheets, I want to see you."

She pulled away from him, and he turned back to the dresser, leaning back against it and picking up his glass as he watched her. She climbed onto the bed, pale skin standing out against the dark red sheets. He took a swallow of wine, its smooth heat flowing through him, and she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them a little self-consciously.

"Lie back," he said, and she hesitated slightly, before releasing her knees and lowering her body down onto the sheets, her legs still bent, small feet flat on the silk throw, her toes curling nervously. He ran his eyes up her body, her shapely legs and the small mounds of her breasts, the nipples taut and puckered. Her chest was rising and falling with her breath, her mouth slightly open, full lips glistening where she had licked them.

"Look at me, Belle," he said quietly, and she turned her head towards him, her cheeks still flushed from her orgasm, her eyes shining, pupils wide with desire. He took another drink of wine, and she seemed to watch his throat bob, watched him swallow it down. She licked her lips again, and he wondered how it would feel to have that beautiful little mouth around his cock, to gaze into her eyes while she sucked him. His abdomen tightened at the thought of it, his cock twitching in his pants.

He put down his glass, and began undoing his shirt, Belle watching him as each button was unfastened. The shirt hung loose, and he shrugged it off, draping it over the chair by the dresser, and approached the bed, noticing her sharp intake of breath as he loomed over her. He knelt at her feet, placing his hands on her knees.

"Open for me," he whispered, and the blush rose in her cheeks. She parted her knees a little, and he smiled.

"More," he said, his voice rough, and she worried her lip with her teeth, letting her knees fall to the sides. He growled in appreciation as the dark curls and the glistening folds between her legs were revealed, and he moved forward, pushing between her thighs and leaning towards her, his hands bracing against the bed on either side of her, his face mere inches from hers.

"I know how sweet you taste, my little Belle," he breathed. "I want to taste you again. i want to lick you until you lose your mind and scream my name, do you hear me?"

She swallowed hard, her breath coming fast, warm on his face, her lips plump and moist.

"I don't know your name, Mr Gold," she said, her voice tremulous, and he hesitated. Of course she didn't. He wondered whether it was wise to give it to her, whether that intimacy, on top of everything else, would complicate things, but he decided that one more error on top of this huge heap of fucking errors he'd made really wouldn't make much difference. He had never given another student his name, but then he had never seen a student naked, either. She deserved it, that piece of him, the piece he held close until he trusted someone enough to let them in. He touched her cheek, finger caressing its smoothness.

"It's Rum," he said softly. "My name is Rum."

She mouthed the word without speaking it aloud, and he sat back on his heels, hands sliding up to push her inner thighs apart. He began to kiss his way up from her knees, pushing his legs back so that he could lie down, his lower legs hanging off the end of the bed. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, the slightest hint of salt as he ran his tongue across it, and felt her shift slightly, heard her catch her breath in anticipation as he neared his goal. He breathed her in, growling with pleasure as her fragrance filled his head, and let his tongue trail up the seam at the top of her leg, his tongue swirling across, catching in coarse hair before it slipped into the soft, wet lips of her sex. Belle arched her body with a sigh of pleasure, hands dropping to twine through his hair, and he swept his tongue through her folds, licking up the sweet taste of her climax and swallowing it. He pushed his tongue inside her, seeking every drop, and then turned his attention to her clit, running the flat of his tongue across it and making her jerk.

He slid his hands under her rear, fingers curling around her hips and pulling her towards him, lifting her up off the bed. His tongue stroked rhythmically, swirling in circles around the bud of her clit, making her hands tighten in his hair and little moans fall from her sweet mouth. She tasted incredible, the slickness of her arousal mixed with his saliva, her salt on his tongue. He longed to make her come again, to feel her shatter, to feel the warm spray of her orgasm on his lips, on his face. He moved one arm, shifting the other so that her weight was balanced on his forearm, and slipped his free hand between her legs, fingers sliding over her inner thigh. Belle was breathing heavily, rocking herself as he licked her, her fingers twisting and pulling at his hair. His fingers inched towards her entrance, index finger gently sliding inside, and she moaned loudly. He flicked his eyes upwards, seeing how her body had arched upwards, her breasts rising and falling with her laboured breathing, her head thrown back.

He began to move his finger in and out, his thumb swiping over her clit between flicks of his tongue, and she was whispering something he could barely make out, one word over and over: _pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_. He could feel her tensing around him, the little muscles in her inner thighs jumping, and he continued to lick her in slow circles, increasing the pressure of his tongue as his fingers quickened their pace, working her, teasing her, bringing her to the brink. She seemed to still, holding her breath, her body shaking a little, and he swiftly pulled his fingers from her just as she jerked, as she came hard with a loud cry. Warm liquid spattered against his lips, and he swept his tongue across them to catch it, groaning loudly at the sweet taste of her. Whitish fluid was leaking from her, and he drew a finger through it, a glistening thread of her cum stretching and snapping as he put the finger in his mouth.

"God, you taste good!" he breathed, and licked her again, pushing his tongue deep inside, wanting badly to fuck her, to slide up inside her as deep as he could go. She released his hair, her hands falling away from him as she tried to catch her breath. He pressed a last kiss to her and sat back on his heels, wiping her juices from his face as best he could and inhaling her scent. Belle was still recovering, an arm thrown over her face, chest heaving, and he pushed himself up from the bed and picked up his wine, turning to look at her as he took a drink. He could still taste her, and he licked his lips, the wine mixing with her sweetness, cooling his throat as he pondered what to do. He had come close to climaxing himself when she had come, and he could already feel wetness in his underwear, where his cock had leaked fluid in his excitement. He wanted to last a little longer than five seconds, so he waited, giving himself time to calm, to lose a little of his need to be inside her _right fucking now_.

She let her head roll to the side, her face adorably flushed, her eyes sleepy, and he took another mouthful of wine, draining the glass and setting it on the dresser. She watched as he reached for the condoms, finger and thumb pinching the little plastic packets and scooping them into his palm. He held them, hand moving up and down slightly as though he was feeling their weight. She nodded at him, wordlessly, and he crossed back to the bed, throwing the condoms beside her.

"Move up," he said softly, and she pushed herself with the heels of her hands, raising herself up so that she was on the pillows. He unfastened his pants, sitting on the bed to take them off so he wouldn't go over on his bad leg, and draped them carefully over the back of the chair with his shirt. His underwear went next, and Belle bit her lip as he turned back to her, hard and ready, crawling onto the bed to retrieve a condom. He rolled it on, remembering how she had felt when he had not worn one, when there had been nothing between them, how her walls had closed around him like wet silk. Shaking his head, he shoved the thoughts away. Dangerous, not to mention stupid, to let his mind go there.

Belle had reached out, and was running a hand over his shoulder, sending a shiver of pleasure through him. He smiled down at her, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Okay?" he asked gently, and she nodded, so he moved in between her legs, his heart thumping as he reached down to touch her, to check that she was still ready for him. His fingers slipped against her, inside her, her passage slick with fluid, and he made a deep noise of contentment as he lined them up, the tip of his cock pushing against her entrance. Belle's hands were poised on his shoulders, the tiny crescents of her nails digging into his skin, and she inhaled sharply as he moved slowly inside her, sliding upwards. She lifted her hips, and he grabbed a pillow, shoving it beneath her, the angle allowing him to push deeper, until he could feel every bit of her, his cock pressing against the neck of her womb.

"God, Belle!" he gasped, and she smiled, her fingers brushing his hair back, stroking his cheek. He began to move, his hips pumping slowly, feeling how tight she was around him, how perfect. She moaned gently as he sank into her all the way, buried as far as he could go, enjoying the friction caused by their hair, by their mingled fluids, his saliva, her arousal. He slid his hands up her body, cupping her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over her nipples and making her yowl and writhe. She slipped her hands under his arms, her palms moving over his naked back and pulling him closer, and he lunged to kiss her, feeling her legs wrap around him. Belle opened her mouth for him, her tongue flickering out to touch his, and he pushed his hands up to her face, fingers sliding through her hair, cradling her head. He quickened his pace, and she moaned into his mouth as he ground against her, the feel of her making him want to take her hard and fast, to pour himself into her, to make her scream.

He could feel her tensing beneath him, her body shaking, and he pulled his mouth from hers, panting as he gazed down at her, at her heavy-lidded eyes and her full lips, swollen from his kisses. He pressed his forehead to hers as he moved, as he thrust, one arm hooking behind her leg and pulling it up over his shoulder, moving deeper inside her, filling her. Belle threw her head back with a cry as she came, clenching around him, pulling at him, and he finally let go with a loud groan, spilling himself, feeling as though he was being turned inside out, electric shocks thrumming beneath his skin. They moved against one another, tiny, repetitive moans coming from them, until finally they slowed, and he pressed his forehead to hers once more, trying to catch his breath.

Belle stroked his hair with lazy contentment, a wide, sleepy smile on her face.

"Rum," she murmured. "My Rum. That was incredible."

He was buried to the balls in her, the taste of her still on his lips and her scent surrounding him, and the sound of his name in her mouth made him feel something - unexpected. Something he shouldn't be feeling. His eyes met hers, and she smiled, her thumb tracing the outline of his lower lip. She kissed him gently, and he melted into it, his tongue touching hers, his hands cupping her cheeks. The kiss ended, and he pulled back a little, still framing her face with his hands. She cast a glance at his lips, then flicked her eyes up to his, and smiled.

He was _so_ fucking screwed.

* * *

 **A/N: I can't help it I love this fucking verse and despite feeling this terrible mix of shame and arousal I can't stop writing it and I'm not even sorry and…**

 ***takes deep breath* Okay, okay, I'm fine.**

 **Next time: Moe wakes up and wants to speak to Belle. Pretty urgently.**


	7. Temperance

**A/N: Everyone's been so lovely about this fic, and it's just awesome, thank you so much! Anyway, on with the tale. When we last left them, Belle had gone over to Gold's house and successfully persuaded him to give her a bunch of orgasms. He also gave her his name, which is something of a big deal for him. There is, alas, no smut in this chapter, only the aftermath.**

 **Samoyedjack prompted: "** **the teachers lounge is a place of inappropriate conversations. Gold does not like hearing other teachers talk about Belle/students that way."**

* * *

Gold looked down at Belle as he caught his breath, the bliss fading from him. She lay there with her eyes closed, a contented grin on her face, her fingers stroking gently through his hair. He could feel himself softening inside her, and he reached down to grip the condom as he pulled out of her. Her eyes flickered open as he pushed himself up off the warm softness of her body, his breath still coming hard, a dry heat at the back of his throat. He turned to sit on the edge of the bed and she rolled over onto her front, watching him sleepily through half-closed eyes.

"I'll - um…" He gestured vaguely at the door, and she smiled again, so he picked up his cane and made his way to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He decided to take a quick shower, soaping himself thoroughly, which made him feel more alert but regrettably washed the scent of Belle from his skin. Turning his face up to the water, he tried to empty his mind of the anxious thoughts and crippling guilt that was making his heart clench. He needed to think of a plan, but for tonight he was too tired, and it appeared that when it came to Belle, all decisions were made with his bloody cock rather than his brain.

After giving himself an invigorating blast of cold water, which made his skin tingle, he got out, towelling off. He wrapped the towel around his waist and faced the mirror, picking up a brush and working out the few tangles in his hair from where Belle had buried her fingers in it. A brief vision flashed through his head, Belle beneath him, hands twisted in his hair, a moan pulled from her as he thrust into her, and he shook his head, trying to make the memory fade before he had to go back in the bedroom. He brushed his hair back from his face so that it was plastered to his skull, working steadily from left to right, the water running in thin trails down the back of his neck and into the hollow of his spine. The bristles left little tramlines in his hair, the grey at his temples more pronounced, and he frowned at himself, dropping the brush and leaning on the sink with damp hands as he surveyed his reflection with a critical eye. The lights in the bathroom were not kind, picking out the lines around his eyes and mouth, the silvery strands in his hair, and he thought about the girl in his bed, her pale beauty and perfect skin and the way she melted in his arms. His own eyes stared back at him, dark and accusing, and his lip curled a little.

"You're a fucking idiot!" he said disgustedly, and turned his back on his reflection.

When he went back into the bedroom, she was asleep on her belly, her arms around one of his pillows. He ran his eyes slowly down the sweeping curve of her back, his gaze lingering on the pale mounds of her buttocks before he picked up the silk throw from the end of the bed and laid it gently over her. She twitched, sighing slightly, and his lips quirked in a smile as she nuzzled the pillow in her sleep.

Pulling on his pants and picking up his empty wineglass, he went downstairs. He couldn't let her sleep too long, of course, but the poor girl was probably exhausted from caring for her father, Astrid's help notwithstanding. He put on the kettle for some tea, pouring himself another glass of wine while he waited for it to boil, and scooped dried chamomile flowers into the pot. Sighing to himself, he leaned back against the work surface and took a drink of wine. It was rich and dark, a slight hint of smooth chocolate amongst the black cherries and spice, and he let his head roll back as its warmth sank down his throat. His mind was working furiously, trying to think of a way out of this mess. Idiot didn't begin to cover it. He was in deep, deep shit, and what was worse he had dragged her in with him. He had been determined to be strong, to push her away for her own sake, and all it had taken was a flash of her blue eyes, a soft plea from her beautiful mouth, and he had taken her to bed and fucked her into a frenzy like the pervert he was. The worst of it was he wanted nothing more than to go upstairs, wake her up and do it all again.

He pulled a face, in equal measure disgusted with himself and aroused by the thought of it. The air in the room was cool, the heating long since off, and he shivered a little, wet hair chilling him more than usual. The kettle started to boil, and he put down his glass, getting out a cup and saucer for her and setting everything on a tray before pouring the boiling water into the teapot.

Carrying the tray upstairs in one arm was difficult, but he managed to do it without spilling anything, and he set the tray down on the dresser carefully, picking up his wineglass again and turning to the bed. Belle was still sleeping, the corners of her mouth turned slightly upwards, the lamplight warm on her smooth cheeks. She looked so peaceful, so happy and so terribly young, and he felt a sudden, unexpected surge of protectiveness. He took a swallow of wine, his mouth twisting. She needed protecting alright, but not by him. He was the very opposite of her protector. He was her defiler.

Scowling, he set the glass down with rather more force than was necessary, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand that shook slightly. She needed to go.

He crossed to the bed, reaching out to her before hesitating an inch or so away from her shoulder, and then gently ran a finger down her small nose. Belle made a tiny noise like a cat, inhaling deeply before opening her eyes, and he couldn't help smiling. Her eyes were a little unfocused at first, but then she let them trail up his body, fixing her gaze on his, and grinned.

"Hey," she said sleepily. "What time is it?"

"It's gone nine-thirty," he said, and her eyes widened.

"Crap!" She rolled onto her back, pushing herself up on her hands. "Astrid's only there until ten, I have to get back!"

She threw the silk throw aside and leapt out of bed, completely unconcerned by her nakedness, and started snatching up her clothes and pulling them on.

"At least have some tea," he offered. "I could take you home in the car."

Belle threw a glance over her shoulder as she straightened her dress. "And how would that look? As far as my dad knows I went to the pharmacy for his pills and - um - then for a walk to clear my head, I guess."

He sighed. God, they couldn't keep this up!

"Belle…" he began, and she whirled on him with a frown.

"Don't," she said firmly, lifting a hand, fingers splaying. "Don't - don't say anything. Don't spoil it."

He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. He could hear her zipping her dress, and when he opened his eyes she was pulling on her shoes.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he said quietly, and she stiffened with her back to him. She slowly turned on the balls of her feet.

"I'm not," she muttered, and reached past him, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair. She stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and he felt a sudden urge to pull her close and fall back into bed with her.

"Thank you," she whispered, and then she was gone, like smoke, leaving him standing with damp hair and crippling guilt and a pot of chamomile tea he didn't want.

* * *

Belle hurried home, glad she was wearing flats, the paper bag containing her father's prescription clutched to her chest. The short nap had revived her, and Gold's touch had made her see stars, so overall she was feeling surprisingly upbeat, despite the pain of what her father was going through. She managed to make it home just before ten, and Astrid looked up anxiously as she entered the bedroom and threw down the bag.

"Sorry!" said Belle, a little breathlessly. "I went for a walk to clear my head. I think it helped."

"Oh, no problem!" said Astrid warmly. "He's just been sleeping. I think he'll be okay until tomorrow. I finished the laundry, and it's all ready to put away."

"You're an angel." Belle ran her hands over her face with a sigh, and Astrid got up, picking up her bag and coat.

"Leroy should be here soon," she said, squeezing Belle's arm. "Same time tomorrow?"

Belle sent her a weary smile and covered the hand with her own. "Thank you, Astrid. I couldn't do this alone."

"Oh, I think you _could_ ," said Astrid wisely. "But luckily you don't have to." She pursed her lips, eyeing Belle. "Honey, when was the last time you went out with your friends, had a sleepover, anything?"

"I…" Belle tried to think, biting her lip. "Other than a couple of hours after school? I don't remember. Before Papa got really sick, I guess."

Astrid sniffed and rolled her eyes. "That's what I thought. Listen, if you ever want a night off, you just tell me. I'm happy to take a night shift if you want to go and be a teenager for the evening."

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that!" protested Belle, and Astrid giggled.

"Sure you could!" she said happily. "Night shifts pay double, and we could use the money." She looked suddenly shy. "We're trying for a baby. I hear they're expensive."

Belle felt an inexplicable pricking of tears at Astrid's bright, hopeful face. The circle of life. One soul leaves this world, another is born into it. Somehow the thought made her a little less sad.

"Well, thanks for the offer," she said, her voice a little thick with emotion. "I'll bear it in mind."

The honk of a truck horn made them both look around, and Astrid smiled widely.

"There's my Grumpy!" she said fondly, and shrugged on her coat. "Bye, Belle! I'll see you tomorrow!"

Belle followed her downstairs, waving to Leroy, who sent her his usual curt nod. Astrid bounced up to the truck and kissed his whiskery cheek before getting in, and Belle giggled at the look of surprise and adoration on his face. She imagined that he looked that way any time his young wife showed him affection.

Closing the door, she made her way back up the stairs. Her father was still sleeping peacefully, so she decided to take a shower, read for a little while, and get a decent night's sleep. With any luck it would be dreamless.

* * *

She slept well, waking early the next morning, and checked in on her father. Moe was stirring, mumbling in his sleep, so Belle went downstairs to make some coffee and poached eggs on toast for their breakfast. She carried it up on a tray, trying to ignore the pleasant ache between her thighs. Noises from the bedroom pulled her attention to her father, and she hurried the last few yards, catching her breath as she saw him half out of bed and grasping for the bedpan.

"Papa, wait!"

She set down the tray, wiping her hands on her thighs and grabbing the bedpan that Astrid had left for him. Moe gazed at her with a pain in his eyes, his gaze a little glassy, and she handed him the pan.

"I'll get your pills," she said, and left him to it, busying herself with the paper bag containing his medication. She pushed two tablets out of the foil-wrapped blister packs, and poured a glass of water. When she turned back, he had finished relieving himself, and she took the bedpan from him and handed over the tablets, watching as he drank them down with the water.

"Back in a second," she said, and went to empty the pan, washing it thoroughly in the sink afterwards. When she got back into the bedroom he was lying back, breathing heavily through his nose, but he opened his eyes as she came close.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked gently, and his jaw tightened.

"Belle," he said, a little hoarsely. "Sweetheart, I - I don't want that man coming here again. I don't want him in our lives, we'll find another way!"

Belle's brow furrowed. "Mr Gold?" she said, puzzled. "But - without his help we'd be sinking, Papa. Astrid's a godsend."

"I know." He winced, trying to push himself up on his pillows, and Belle rushed to help him, taking his weight so that he could use the heels of his hands to lift himself. He turned tired eyes towards her.

"Darling, I _saw_ him," he said patiently. "He's dangerous. He'll hurt you."

"Papa…" said Belle wearily, and Moe hesitated.

"I - I see the way he looks at you," he said uncomfortably. "He's not doing this to be kind, sweetheart. He wants something from you. Something you should never have to give."

Belle could feel herself beginning to redden, and clutched at his hand.

"Papa," she said gently. "Don't think things like that. I know it looks strange, but he hasn't asked me for anything. He says he won't, and I believe him."

"Why would he do this for nothing?" demanded Moe. "It doesn't make any sense! He - he - well, I don't know, exactly, but it can't be good, love!"

Belle shook her head.

"I promise you that Mr Gold hasn't made any - unwelcome advances towards me." She giggled, squeezing his hand. "See? You make me sound like someone out of an Austen novel, or something."

"I don't trust him!" insisted Moe, looking at her pleadingly. "There's darkness in him, sweetheart!"

Belle sighed heavily. "There's darkness in all of us, Papa," she said, and he shook his head.

"Not like this, my girl!" he whispered. "He's evil! I saw it! I don't want him around you!"

"You were hallucinating," said Belle softly. "Doctor Whale said it was the painkillers. Hallucinations are a rare side-effect. That's why I got these new ones. How are they?"

Moe grimaced. "Too early to say," he muttered, and scratched the back of his head. "Hallucinating? I don't know, Belle. I don't need to be hallucinating to see the way he looks at you."

"We need his help," said Belle firmly. "And yes, I wasn't happy when he helped without even asking, but I'm grateful for it now. He says I won't owe him anything, and I believe him."

Moe shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want you feeling - obligated to…"

Belle put her hands on her hips with a frown. "Are you suggesting I'd give Mr Gold a - a…" She struggled, and Moe squirmed a little. "That I'd _give_ myself to him out of gratitude?" she demanded. "Because if you are, then you and I need to have a serious conversation."

Moe held up his hands, alarmed. "No, sweetheart! Of course not! I just...I don't trust him," he trailed off lamely, and Belle sniffed.

"Well, hopefully you trust _me_ ," she grumbled.

"Of course!" he said soothingly, and she huffed a little.

"Well, that's all that matters then," she said, and got up off the bed. "I'll handle Mr Gold, Papa. You just concentrate on feeling better."

He gave her a fond, if despairing look, but his eyes were heavy, the painkillers starting to do their work. She plumped his pillows, and he lay back with a sigh as she kissed his cheek.

"Stop worrying about me," she whispered, and his lips quirked.

"Never."

* * *

Astrid's help meant that Belle was able to get her homework done with time to spare, and she decided on an early night on Sunday. She had not been sleeping well, and the thought of a full eight hours of undisturbed rest was heavenly. In the end she had nine, having taken a book to bed with her but fallen asleep before she finished the first chapter. She awoke early on Monday morning, and made the most of having extra time by showering and drying her hair, making breakfast for her father and her own lunch to take to school.

Kissing Moe goodbye and promising to be home at lunchtime, she made her way to the diner. The air was cold, frost already on the ground, and she suspected it would be snowing soon. She wore thick tights beneath her short grey dress, a cap-sleeved white shirt beneath it and a dark blue peacoat that kept out the worst of the Maine wind. The breeze snatched at the few strands of her hair that had worked loose from the bun on her head, and she clutched her bag of schoolbooks to her chest, trotting up to the diner and letting the warm, humid air envelop her as she shut the door behind her. She smiled as Ruby and Emma bounced up.

"Hey!" Ruby hugged her, then pulled back with her hands on Belle's shoulders, putting her head to the side. "Did you do something? You look great!"

"Meaning I usually look like crap?" said Belle dryly, at which Ruby stuck out her tongue. "I actually spent time fixing my hair this morning, if that's what you mean."

"No, you look kind of…" Ruby waved a hand, lost for words. "Smug," she finished, and Belle rolled her eyes.

"Like the cat that got the cream," added Emma. "She's right, Bellz. What have you been up to while our backs have been turned?"

"I got a decent night's sleep, that's all!" protested Belle, trying not to blush and failing. "Now, can I get a coffee, or are you gonna both interrogate me some more?"

Ruby and Emma shared a suspicious, if amused, look.

"Interrogation?" suggested Emma, and Ruby nodded fervently.

"I vote interrogation," she agreed, and Belle growled under her breath and stomped over to the counter without them. Emma and Ruby followed her, giggling, and pulled faces at her when she turned to face them with an offended look.

"Chill, honey, we're just kidding," said Emma, giving her a friendly shove with her elbow. "You look great. Let's grab the brownies and get out of here."

Mollified, Belle picked up her coffee and the paper bag that Granny held up with a smile, and the three girls headed off to school, Belle handing around the brownies and licking chocolate from her fingers.

"Phys Ed this afternoon," said Ruby gloomily. Belle sighed. She was not the most coordinated of people, and Phys Ed was usually an exercise in humiliation, but at least she could hide behind Emma and Ruby.

"Great," she said unenthusiastically. "An hour of running around the ball court in the freezing cold with Gaston looking at my ass. Remind me to sprain my ankle at lunch, would you?"

Emma and Ruby chuckled, and Emma took a slurp of her coffee.

"Did you study for the French test?" asked Ruby, biting down into her brownie, and Belle nodded, chewing and swallowing.

"God, that's good! Yeah, I think it should be okay. Mr Lemaire hasn't yelled at anyone for a few weeks, so I guess that means we're improving."

"Ugh!" Emma wrinkled her nose. "I hate that guy! I'm _glad_ we have Phys Ed afterwards. At least I get to hit something."

"It's basketball," said Ruby, and Emma shrugged.

"Your point? Some of the guys _need_ a good punch in the face, if you ask me."

Ruby snorted. "Yeah, if you're gonna punch someone, at least make it Nottingham."

"Sleaze," nodded Emma, then almost jumped into the air, spinning and turning to land in front of them, walking backwards. Belle wondered how she did it without falling or twisting her ankle, as she would have done.

"Oh my God!" said Emma excitedly. "I almost forgot! Did you guys _hear_? Aurora saw Ashley totalling making out with Nottingham in the Rabbit Hole on Saturday! Can you believe it?"

"Of him?" said Belle flatly. "Definitely."

Ruby nodded. "I thought Ashley had more sense though," she said regretfully. "I mean, banging a teacher?" She shook her head. "That'll end well."

Belle looked around sharply. "Did she..?"

"Oh, I don't know about _that_ ," said Emma, taking a sip of her coffee. "Aurora just said he was practically eating her face." She shuddered.

"Maybe it's nothing serious," ventured Belle, and Ruby snorted.

"Yeah, well, of _course_ it's nothing serious for _him_! The guy has to be twice her age! Fucking pervert!"

Belle hunched her shoulders a little, hiding her face behind her coffee cup as Emma agreed with Ruby. She breathed in the warm scent of the strong coffee, licking the last of the brownie crumbs from her fingers as she took a drink.

"Anyway, never mind about Nottingham," said Ruby dismissively. "I guess we can ask Ashley when we see her. Bellz, I have a favour to ask." She looked at Belle a little guiltily, and Belle's interest was immediately piqued.

"Oh?" she said, a grin curling the corners of her mouth. Ruby looked as though she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't, and it was kind of adorable.

"Yeah, it's - Peter's mom is going away on Saturday," she said uncomfortably. "And - I was wondering if - if it would be okay if I told Granny I was staying at your place Saturday night."

Emma snorted with laughter. "Oh, Rubes! Tired of banging behind dumpsters?"

"We never did it behind a dumpster!" protested Ruby indignantly, as Belle giggled. Ruby turned big, pleading eyes on her.

"Please?" she whined, and Belle rolled her eyes.

"Of course!" she said, leaning into Ruby affectionately as they walked. "You don't have to beg. It's just - what if she calls? I'm a terrible liar."

"I'll have my cell," said Ruby quickly. "I'll leave your cell number with Granny, and if she calls, just say I'm in the bathroom or something, and call me."

Belle sighed, trying to hide her grin.

"I hope he's worth it," she said innocently, and Ruby beamed.

"Definitely getting better. We're gonna try for a mutual orgasm," she said with relish, and Emma and Belle groaned.

* * *

Gold walked into the teachers' lounge with a scowl on his face. The weather had changed, becoming cold and damp, with the threat of snow to come, and his leg had been hurting all weekend, robbing him of sleep. He was not in the mood for the exuberance of the students, some of whom were already wearing Halloween masks and jumping out at one another in the corridors. He had snapped at a couple of them, causing wide eyes and stuttering apologies, and he was now in a foul mood.

"Roll on the first of November," he muttered, shutting the door behind him with a sigh and cutting out most of the noise. Jefferson looked up from where he was lounging in one of the battered leatherette chairs, a large book on Expressionism open in his lap. He snapped the book shut.

"Halloween always starts early in Storybrooke," he said. "I guess I should've warned you."

Gold grunted, making his way over to the old hotplate, where a pot of coffee, which seemed to be permanently brewing, was sending out a steady trickle of fragrant steam. The Phys Ed teacher, Keith Nottingham, was leaning back against the wall, mug of coffee in hand, talking to Killian Jones, the janitor.

"Nah, I didn't nail her," he was saying. "How stupid do you think I am?"

It was with great difficulty that Gold refrained from providing a detailed and cutting response. He didn't like the man, but he had no desire to get into an argument about Nottingham's latest conquest. Although to hear him talk, half the women in Storybrooke were desperate to get into his bed. Somehow Gold doubted that was true. He poured himself some coffee, wrinkling his nose at the dark liquid. It smelt stale. Jefferson threw his book aside and stood up, picking up his own empty coffee cup.

"You should probably prepare yourself for a bunch of kids in outfits hassling you for candy," he said. "The teenagers are the worst. You might not want to wear your best suit on Saturday. Eggs and flour probably wouldn't do it much good."

Gold gave him a level look. "I feel confident that the students in this town know that any such assault on my person would mean instant death," he said calmly, and Jefferson laughed a little nervously.

"Gold, you gotta love this holiday!" interrupted Nottingham. "You should see some of the outfits they wear! Sexy devils. Sexy witches. Sexy vampires. Even a sexy nurse or two. Ariel Fisher wore one last year...man!" He groaned, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "She could take my temperature any time!"

"You do know her father runs the animal shelter?" remarked Gold. "She'd probably take it anally." He showed his teeth. "But then, perhaps you're into that."

"Plus, she's seventeen," added Jefferson. "Gross, dude."

"Hey, I can look!" protested Nottingham. "Not like I'd do anything. She's still at school. I know she's off-limits."

"Plus she has that boyfriend of hers looking out for her," added Jones, and Nottingham grunted.

"Yeah, she's not worth fighting over," he agreed.

"Well, thank goodness you don't allow your morals to get in the way of that rampant libido," said Gold dryly, quashing the snide voice inside his head that whispered he was a fucking hypocrite.

"Can't help it if young ladies find us irresistible," said Jones, grinning widely and showing white, even teeth. "I suppose you don't have that worry, do you? More of a problem when you're nearer _their_ age, rather than their fathers'."

Gold pinched the bridge of his nose. The pain in his leg was giving him a headache, and he could cheerfully have smacked both men around the skull with his cane.

"I guess getting them drunk sure helps lower their inhibitions," shrugged Jefferson, and Jones scowled at him.

"There was no proof of that..." he began, and Gold lost patience.

"Don't you have toilets to clean?" he asked coldly. "Do make sure to do under the rims, there's a good lad. I'm sure the 'young ladies' would appreciate the dedication you bring to your work."

Jones glared at him, stomping from the room with a face like thunder, and he turned back to Jefferson with a smirk, pouring him some coffee.

* * *

His mood did not improve as the day wore on, and the tenth-graders sat nervously as he yelled at one unfortunate student who had neglected to complete the homework. The yelling made his headache worse, and he limped to the teachers' lounge at four-thirty, curling his lip as he saw that Nottingham and Jones were there again, chatting by the window about some sports game; basketball, it seemed to be, from the conversation that drifted back to him. Jefferson was also there, one leg draped over the arm of the chair while he flicked through a magazine, and little Mr Short was snoozing in an ancient chintz armchair with a battered old book resting face down on his round belly.

"Don't you ever have class?" asked Gold sourly, making himself another coffee. Jefferson looked up.

"I have a break before the after-school club," he said dismissively, and nodded towards the window. "Those two losers were there when I got here."

"Look at them!" Jones was saying. "A couple of years, and they'll be down at the Rabbit Hole."

"That Ruby looks as though she already goes there," remarked Nottingham, and Gold looked up sharply.

"She's dating Peter Wolfe," said Jones dismissively. "The blonde though…"

"Swan?" Nottingham chuckled. "Good luck. She'd kick your ass. I had to pull her off that Gaston kid today after he touched her butt in the warm-up. Poor guy should have worn a box." He shook his head sadly, and Gold grinned to himself. Good for Miss Swan.

"What about the little one?" asked Jones.

"Belle French?" Nottingham made a lascivious slurping noise with his tongue, and all the blood in Gold's body seemed to rush into his head, his pulse pounding in his throat, his breath quickening as fury rose up through him.

"She looks far too sweet for the likes of you," noted Jones, and Nottingham nudged him.

"Yeah, well, you know what they say about the innocent-looking ones," he said. "Given the right encouragement I bet she'd be a dirty little…"

"If I hear _one more word_ out of either of your vile little mouths I won't be held responsible for my actions!" snapped Gold, cutting him off. Both men looked around, alarmed.

"Yeah, Principal Mills doesn't like her teachers perving on the kids," added Jefferson. "Seriously, guys, tone it down, hmm?"

"We're just kidding, Gold," said Nottingham easily. "Don't get your panties in a knot."

"Oh, so you think this is a joke?" asked Gold quietly. "You think the corruption of a minor is something to laugh about, do you? Have you any idea of the damage you could cause?"

"Hey, we were just talking!" protested Nottingham, holding up his hands. "Jesus, Gold, I wasn't being serious! The sheriff would have my balls in a bag if he caught me with my hands on Belle French, I know it!"

Gold squared his jaw, feeling a tic below his left eye, his head pounding. Jones was eyeing him nervously, and he took a step forward, the click of his cane abnormally loud in the suddenly silent room.

"Oh, and you think you'll get the opportunity, do you?" he said softly. "That Miss French would welcome your perverted attentions? The sheriff would be the least of your worries, let me assure you."

"Okay, okay!" Nottingham was looking a little alarmed, and Jones was moving steadily towards the door, trying to stay out of Gold's line of sight. Gold swept his eyes to the side, throwing his gaze between both men, bringing every ounce of intimidation he could find within and hurling it outwards.

"One more word," he breathed. "That's all. One more inappropriate, disgusting comment about Miss French, Miss Swan, Miss Lucas, or any other girl at this school…"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll run and tell on us to Principal Mills," said Nottingham, waving a bored hand. "We got it, man. Chill."

Jones shot Nottingham a look that said that he seriously doubted the wisdom of making that statement, and inched further away from him. Gold smiled unpleasantly.

"Oh, I won't report you," he said quietly. "I'll simply bide my time, until you least expect it, and then beat the ever-loving shit out of both of you, do you understand me?"

"Gold," said Jefferson sharply. "I think you made your point."

Nottingham opened his mouth with a sneer, as though he was about to retort, but something in Gold's eyes seemed to make him swallow his words. He dropped his gaze.

"Fucking psycho," he muttered, and stomped out of the room, Jones following him. Gold eased his jaw, feeling a dull pain where he had clenched his teeth to keep himself in check. What the hell was wrong with him? He let himself relax a little, a tired sigh hissing from him, and Jefferson's hand on his shoulder made him flinch.

"You okay, man?" asked Jefferson, concern on his face, and Gold nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine, fine," he said distractedly. "I just didn't like what they were saying about - about the girls."

Jefferson rolled his eyes. "They're a couple of sleazes, but I don't think your girls have anything to worry about. Both of 'em need to keep their jobs. They may have crossed a few lines down at that dive of a club, but there's no solid proof of anything." He snorted. "Guess if seniors that weren't dating start showing up pregnant we'll know who to blame, though."

Gold pinched his nose again, trying to clear his head, and Jefferson gave him a sympathetic look.

"Go home, Gold," he said. "You look like shit, and you scare the students when you're like this. Class is over. Get your ass home and dose up on meds or something."

Gold sent him a wry smile. "Trying to mother me only makes me more of a grouch, you know."

"I didn't think that was possible," said Jefferson dryly. "Now get out of here."

* * *

By the time Belle got home, she was worn out. Phys Ed had been the usual mix of uncoordinated humiliation. She had stood on Aurora's foot, tripping over and sitting down hard, and the basketball had hit her in the face not long after. The only bright point in the afternoon had been seeing Emma punch Gary Gaston in the crotch. She'd been sent to the principal's office, but Belle was confident that she wouldn't get into trouble. Regina Mills may be a cold disciplinarian, but she took a dim view of groping. She suspected that Gary would be in her office later, once he recovered from Emma's defensive move.

Her father was pleased to see her, and Astrid fussed over her, fetching her a cup of tea so that she could sit with him while Astrid ironed his laundry. He was a little better, in less pain, and she was pleased that the new meds seemed to be working. He reported no further hallucinations, and Belle was able to relax a little. She suggested they play cards, and Astrid joined them few a few games, dropping her cards and giggling every time she got a decent hand, which meant that she invariably lost. It was fun, and Belle could almost forget that he was ill, that his time was limited. He tired quickly, though, and she let Astrid get him ready for sleep at around half-nine, making her way downstairs to the kitchen to make some tea.

Astrid came down around twenty minutes later, smiling to Belle as she got her coat and bag ready for Leroy's imminent arrival.

"He's had a good day," she said warmly. "It's been fun, Belle."

"It has." Belle hesitated, the idea she'd been toying with for some time now swimming to the surface of her mind. "Astrid, did you mean what you said about night shifts?"

"Sure!" said Astrid brightly, clasping her hands together. "Does this mean you'll ask for one? I'll do any night, Belle, really!"

"Um - Saturday?" asked Belle nervously. "It's just - I wanted to go to my friend Ruby's house, and…"

"Oh, it's fine!" Astrid waved a hand. "I'll do an overnight stint. If I come over at six instead of two, I can stay until ten the next morning. It's like a double shift."

"You will get some sleep for some of that, right?" asked Belle, concerned, and Astrid nodded.

"I can sleep, if I get the opportunity," she said. "I usually get between four and six hours on a double shift, but it depends on what kind of a night your dad has. I'm a light sleeper, so he'll wake me no problem if he needs something."

"Okay." Belle bit her lip as she thought of something. "I should probably - check with the agency, or something."

"You mean Mr Gold?" Astrid's face fell. "It'll cost more. Do you think he'll mind?"

"I don't know," admitted Belle. "Let me ask him. I'll tell you tomorrow."

The honk of Leroy's truck horn made them both jump, and Astrid gave her a quick hug.

"I'll keep everything crossed," she whispered, and trotted off into the night, leaving Belle to her growing nervousness. For the first time in many long months, she had the opportunity of spending a night away from home. Now all she had to do was get the agreement of the person she wanted to spend it with.

* * *

 **A/N: Can anyone see the flaw in Belle's genius plan?**

 **Next time: Belle tries to convince Gold to let her stay over.**


	8. Passion

**A/N: Loving the feedback from you guys. I have more prompts to work on, but none of them came within the scope of this chapter. There's smut, by the way, but I'm sure you won't mind that.**

* * *

Belle climbed the stairs to the corridor where the teachers kept their offices, the muffled noise of students on their morning break a faint intrusion into her concentration. She was nervous. While she was certain that Gold would agree to Astrid doing a night shift, she was by no means convinced that he would want her to spend the night with him. She also needed more condoms, and was unsure how to ask Ruby to get more without explaining how she'd used those she had been given. Perhaps he'd buy some, if she asked.

She hesitated outside his office door, hand raised, then knocked firmly. At his call, she turned the handle and went in. He was seated behind his desk, scribbling something. No doubt adding caustic comments to someone's homework. He looked up, eyes widening a little. She loved it when he looked surprised to see her, when his eyes were clear and strangely hopeful, before they narrowed again, became closed and wary. Became guilty.

"Belle," he said, with the ghost of a smile. "What are you doing here?"

She shut the door behind her, pushing it closed by leaning back against it.

"I - need to ask you something," she said awkwardly, and he raised an eyebrow, so she launched into what she had planned to say. "Astrid offered to do a night shift, so i could have a proper night off and do something I wanted, and i know it'll cost double, and it's technically a double-shift so that means it'll cost quadruple, but I wondered if it would be okay with you if she did, because I know you pay her bills so if it's not it's totally okay, I understand."

She cut off, a little breathless, and he smiled slightly, amused.

"Of course that's alright," he said. "When were you thinking?"

"Saturday?" asked Belle, breathing a little easier, and he nodded.

"I'll confirm it with the agency," he agreed, making a note. "What do you plan on doing Saturday night, Belle?"

She took a deep breath. "You."

He blinked, sitting back in his chair. "I see."

"I - I thought…" She fidgeted, and stepped forwards a little to give herself something to do. "I thought we could spend the night together."

He sighed, dropping his eyes, rolling a pen back and forth across the pile of papers in front of him with the tip of his finger.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Belle," he said quietly, and she folded her arms, frowning.

"So? According to you none of this is a good idea. Doesn't mean we shouldn't do it."

He still wouldn't meet her eyes. She hated it, hated the sad, guilty look on his face, hated that she was the cause of it. Hated that she didn't care. She leant on the desk, hair falling forwards over her shoulders.

"Please," she said softly. "Do you know how long it's been since I had a night just doing what I want to do? A night where I can relax and unwind and know that my dad will be okay even though I'm not there?"

He finally looked up at her, the pen held delicately between finger and thumb as he tapped it on the papers, his mouth twisting a little.

"Emotional blackmail doesn't suit you, Miss French," he said heavily, and she straightened up, stung.

"I'm not trying to blackmail you," she objected. "I just thought - I want you, and I know you want me, so…"

He grimaced slightly, pushing away from the desk and standing up. She shivered slightly as he passed near her, going to his bookshelves. His presence seemed to envelop her, to sweep out and wrap around her, drawing her in. She watched as he slid a chemistry text from the shelf, soft hair falling around his face when he bent to retrieve it.

"I wish you didn't feel so guilty all the time," she said quietly, and he sighed.

"I wish I didn't have so much to feel guilty over," he said coolly, and she swallowed.

"Are you saying you won't let me stay?" she asked, hating the way her voice sounded: high and petulant, like a child's. He turned back, and his hand reached up to briefly cup her cheek. She inhaled sharply, her heart fluttering as he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, making her entire being hum with pleasure.

"No, I'm not," he whispered, his voice a low purr that seemed to vibrate through her and make her core clench. "I'm not saying that. But you shouldn't come to my house."

"Then…" She swallowed, her voice catching in her throat a little. "Then where?"

His fingers caressed her cheek, running over the smooth skin and dipping beneath her jaw, and she licked her lips as the tip of his forefinger brushed her earlobe.

"At seven," he said quietly. "Walk along Union Street until you pass the little church. I'll have parked the car opposite."

"Oh." Her mind was whirling, her senses in overdrive from his closeness, his heat, his scent. She could feel the coolness of his breath on her face, and she wanted him to kiss her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, bending his head to her, and her heart thumped hard as his lips touched hers.

A sharp rap of knuckles on wood, and the door opening, made them spring apart.

"Gold, I needed to…" Regina Mills cut off, eyes narrowing, as she focused on Belle. "Miss French, what are you doing here?"

"I - um…" Belle tried desperately to think of a reason for being in the office of a teacher whose subject she no longer studied.

"Miss French has decided that she wants to keep up her chemistry studies," said Gold, smoothly. "Now that she has a little more time on her hands, she can set aside some of that for learning. She merely came by to see if I had any suitable texts she could borrow." He turned back to the shelf and slid two books from it, holding them out to Belle with a thin smile. She took them, not daring to meet his eyes, and Ms Mills sniffed.

"Run along then, Miss French," she said dismissively.

"Yes, Principal Mills," said Belle meekly. "Thank you, Mr Gold. I'll get them back to you as soon as I can."

"No hurry, dearie," he said airily, and she skirted the Principal, shutting the office door behind her and leaning against the wall with a sigh of relief before setting off down the corridor. She was almost at her next class (Biology) when she realised she had forgotten to ask him about the condoms. Dammit.

* * *

Belle figured he'd probably get some protection without her having to ask him, but she hated leaving things to chance, and the prospect of spending the night with him and not being able to have him inside her didn't bear thinking about. Her only other source was Ruby, and she resolved to ask her friend for a fresh supply. The opportunity came at lunchtime, when she sat down with her tray of mac and cheese and chocolate pudding with the others.

"All set for Saturday?" she asked Ruby, who smirked and wiggled her eyebrows.

"Set," she said happily. "I gave Granny the number for your cell, but she shouldn't call. She knows how tired your dad is. I'll take my cell over to Peter's place. Text me if she calls."

"Okay, sure." Belle poked unenthusiastically at her macaroni. The school cafeteria was hit and miss at the best of times, and it seemed that the rubbery pasta and gluey sauce fell firmly in the 'miss' category. "Do you have condoms?" she asked, transferring a forkful to her mouth. She winced. Salt, gloop, and very little else. Definite miss.

"I picked up a whole bunch of 'em," Ruby assured her. "I have protection coming out of my ass, girls, don't worry!"

"Good," said Emma, scooping up some beef stew and wolfing it down. Belle wished she'd chosen that; Emma looked as though she was enjoying it. Emma gestured at Ruby with a fork as she swallowed.

"Not that a mini-Ruby wouldn't be the cutest thing ever, but I don't think Storybrooke is ready," she added, and Ruby winced.

" _I'm_ not ready!" she said, with feeling. "Screw Storybrooke!"

Emma shrugged. "According to the bathroom walls you've already done that," she remarked, and yelped as Ruby shoved her.

Belle grinned, stirring her food. "Any chance of getting some of those condoms?" she asked innocently, and Ruby and Emma turned to her, suddenly curious.

"Didn't I give you some?" asked Ruby. "What did you do with them?"

Belle wriggled uncomfortably. "Messed around with them and then made water-balloons," she muttered, and Emma and Ruby burst out laughing. Ruby bent to the side, rummaging in her bag before straightening up and dropping half a dozen plastic packets on the table top.

"There you go, honey," she said briskly, as Belle hastily scooped them up before anyone could see. "Try to use 'em for the intended purpose next time, hmm?"

"You got your eye on someone?" asked Emma, spearing a piece of potato. Belle shook her head, blushing.

"I just want to be prepared," she said hurriedly, busying herself with the mac and cheese. "Just in case, right?"

"Too true," nodded Emma. "I don't see myself jumping anyone in this school, but you never know when fate'll dump a hot exchange student in your lap, or something."

Ruby snorted in amusement, and Belle shoved the condoms in her bag. Just in case.

* * *

Belle grew increasingly nervous as the week progressed, and she wasn't sure why. It wasn't as though they hadn't spent the night together before; admittedly he had only slept in her bed that one time, but it had still happened. She thought it might be because he hadn't wanted her to go to the house, that he was picking her up in the car. She hoped they wouldn't be spending the night in the car, but she doubted it. A hotel, perhaps? A motel, with the seedy overtones that suggested? She couldn't see it. Trying to picture Gold in a dimly-lit room in one of the motels up near the interstate was difficult, and made her want to giggle.

She had arranged for Astrid to turn up at six, telling her father she was staying over at Ruby's. Given that Ruby would be with Peter it seemed the best course of action, as she could be assured of no calls from her best friend. The only possible fly in the ointment would be a call from Granny, but given that Ruby had passed her the number for Belle's cell phone, she was not too worried about that. She had stressed over what to pack; a change of clothes for the next day was easy enough, and her washbag and a little makeup, but trying to find some nightwear that wasn't fluffy, covered with pictures of stylised animals or just plain embarrassing had proven difficult. She had never before bemoaned her lack of sexy nightdresses, but she was finding it hard to imagine Gold being turned on by her favourite fuzzy pyjamas with the pictures of cats in oversized spectacles, reading books and washing themselves. In the end she chose a pair of soft grey shorts and a white, short-sleeved pyjama top with a picture of an owl perched on a pile of books on the front of it. She stuffed everything in her backpack, making sure that she included the condoms that Ruby had given her, and shrugged on her coat, heart starting to thump excitedly.

"You have a good time, sweetheart," said Moe, when she went in to kiss him. "Give Ruby my love, won't you?"

"Sure thing," she said, squeezing his hand and smiling at Astrid. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She bounced down the stairs with a light heart, making her way out into the cold night air and pulling a black velvet cloche hat down on her head. Her breath misted in front of her as she walked briskly into the town. It was almost seven, and she didn't want to be late. She passed by Granny's diner, its bright lights and the muted buzz of laughter making her smile, and turned onto Union Street, making her way past darkened shop fronts until she reached the little church at the end. Looking around, she saw the dark, shining panels of Gold's Cadillac, parked up off the road in a vacant lot. The headlights were off, but she could feel that he was there, watching her from the darkness of the car's interior. She crossed the street, looking quickly from left to right to ensure no one was there, and pulled open the door to the car, sliding into the passenger seat in a rush. Warmth enveloped her, and she dropped her backpack on the floor as she reached for her seatbelt.

"Good evening," said Gold quietly. "Are you ready?"

He drove them out of town, turning off the main road onto one of the pine needle-strewn forest trails that wound around Storybrooke. Belle sat very straight, knees pressed together, watching his hands on the wheel, the snap and pull of the tendons and the way the skin tightened over his knuckles when he gripped the gear lever. Her heart was still thumping, her pulse beating low in her groin, and she wanted him to touch her. He appeared to hear her silent plea, his warm hand dropping onto her leg, fingers splaying across her thigh. Her breath quickened a little, her knees parting so that he could slide the hand upwards, beneath her skirt, his little finger brushing against the edge of her underwear through her tights and making her bite her lip. She wanted him to reach higher, to run his fingers up and down between her legs and make her wet with desire, but he pulled his hand away, changing gear as the car slowed and swept around a bend in the track.

Belle looked out of the window curiously, the night hiding much of the dense woods around them. The car slowed further, its wheels suddenly crunching on gravel, and its headlights swept across the wooden walls of a cabin. Belle grinned with excitement. A cabin in the woods! She could see moonlight glinting on water, a lake beyond the cabin itself, and she couldn't wait to get out and look around. Gold parked the car in front of the cabin, putting on the brakes and turning off the engine before turning to her.

"Here we are, then," he said quietly, and she felt a thrill go through her, a shiver of anticipation.

The cabin was dark as she followed him in, backpack clutched in her hands. He turned on a couple of lamps, warm light spilling out and illuminating the room. There was a large open fireplace, a couch and padded armchairs, a kitchenette.

"Bedroom's through that door," he said, pointing to a darkened corridor. "I'll light a fire."

She was glad of that, as the cabin was cold, but she wandered through to the bedroom while he stacked logs in the fireplace. There was an overhead light, but she noticed two lamps on the nightstands, so she turned these on and switched off the main light. The lamps sent out a warm, gentle glow, and Belle drew the thick, dark red curtains, shutting out the night. The bed was a double, the sheets and pillowcases white cotton, with thick woollen blankets and a quilted throw the colour of claret over the top. She thought it would be deliciously warm with both of them in there.

She set her bag on the tiny dresser, rummaging in it for a brush, and shrugged off her coat. The air was cold, but she could smell the fire burning from the other room. They would soon warm up. She began brushing out her hair with long, steady strokes, watching the light gleam faintly on her curls in the small mirror, and she heard his footsteps approaching, the tap of his cane. A shadow loomed behind her, his presence reflected in the mirror.

"Fire's going," he said quietly. "Did you want - are you hungry? I brought some food."

She turned to him with a smile, setting down the brush.

"I'm not hungry yet," she assured him, and stepped forwards, putting her hands on his chest. He had taken off his overcoat, and was in his suit, the shirt beneath a deep blue damask silk. She could feel him move beneath her hands, his chest rising and falling with his even breath, and she raised her eyes to his. The light from the lamps was reflected in his eyes, a spark of gold amidst the darkness, and she felt a familiar flutter in her belly as his fingers inched over her hip. She slid her hands up to his shoulders, stepping closer, so that she was pressed up against him. His breath hardened, his eyes darkening, and she licked her lips, noting how his own lips parted at the sight. She could see the pulse in this throat, and she longed to lick it, to taste him, to breathe in the woody scent of his cologne and his own perfect fragrance.

"Kiss me," she whispered, and he bent his head, lips pressing against hers and opening up her mouth. She moaned gently, hearing his cane fall to the floor, feeling his hands slide up her body and sink into her hair. It had been a week since she'd been touched like this, a week since she had tasted him, and his flavour exploded across her tongue, making her crave him, making her twine her arms around his neck and rub herself against him. She could feel him unzipping her skirt and sliding it over her hips, and she hurriedly unbuttoned his jacket and waistcoat, pushing them both from his shoulders a little awkwardly, before he dropped his arms and shrugged them off. He had to break the kiss to do it, stepping back from her to drape the jacket over the single chair in the room, and she tried to catch her breath as she stepped out of the fallen skirt and kicked it to the side with her shoes, her cheeks flushed.

"Do you have protection?" she asked, and he fished in the inside pocket of the jacket, pulling out several condoms and throwing them on the bed. Belle grinned happily, bouncing up on her toes to kiss him again, her fingers going for the buttons of his shirt. He dropped his mouth to her neck and her hands stilled, a moan pulled from her throat as shivers ran through her. His hand cradled her head, his tongue swirling over the sensitive spot where her pulse throbbed, and she cried out as he sank his teeth into her. He ran the flat of his tongue over the bite, and she recalled how it had felt between her legs, seeking out her most sensitive places, bringing her to the brink of bliss and sending her crashing over the edge.

"I want you, Belle," he breathed, his voice rumbling through her. He teeth nipped at her earlobe and she moaned again. "I want you naked, in my bed. I want to get deep inside you, my sweet."

"Yes!" she whispered, her body undulating against his. "Please! I want you."

He trailed his tongue down her neck, biting her gently, and his hands moved to her shirt, plucking open the buttons and pushing it from her shoulders. She let it fall, fingers trembling as she tried to unfasten his shirt. She gave up when he unhooked her bra and bent to put his mouth around her breast, rising up on her toes with a soft cry as he sucked at her nipple. Her skin pebbled in the cold air of the room, her other nipple hard and puckered, but his mouth was warm and wet, his tongue circling as he sucked, and she let her fingers trail through his hair as her head rolled back.

His thumbs slipped beneath the waistband of her tights, pulling them down over her hips along with her panties, and she wriggled, lifting her legs one at a time so that he could roll them all the way down and pull them off at her feet. She was naked before him, and a shiver went through her that was not all from the cold air. He ran his eyes over her, and she resisted the urge to cover her breasts with her arms. Instead she lifted her chin, her breath coming hard, and he smiled, gold tooth gleaming in the soft light of the lamps.

"On the bed," he whispered, his voice low and rough, and she backed away, climbing onto the bed and turning to face him. He was taking off his cufflinks, pushing the little gold posts through the slits in his cuffs, placing them carefully on the little dresser. His hair was hanging in his face, the lamplight shining on his cheekbones, and she forgot to be cold, knowing that he would be with her, that he would cover her body with his and make her forget everything but the two of them, everything but how he made her feel.

She ran her eyes over him eagerly as he unbuttoned the shirt, shrugging it off, revealing his thin arms, his chest, the flat planes of his pectoral muscles beneath lightly tanned skin and the darker circles of his hardened nipples. His hands dropped to his waist, and he unfastened his pants, stepping out of them while leaning on the chair for support. She felt her breath catch as he took off his underwear, his cock springing free, the darker skin and the soft brown hair surrounding it pulling her eyes. She had not had much opportunity to study him before, and so she took it now, running her gaze over the smooth hardness of it, the thick vein beneath, the soft sac of skin that hung below. She wondered how it would taste, if she were to take him in her mouth.

Licking her lips, she raised her eyes to his, and saw that he was watching her intently, breathing heavily through his mouth, his eyes dark with need, almost black, the pupils blown wide. He lifted a hand, spinning one finger in a circle.

"On your knees," he said quietly, and she sucked in her breath, swallowing hard. She turned, getting on her hands and knees, her palms pressing down on the soft, quilted throw. She could hear him moving behind her, and it made her nervous, but then the mattress dipped under the weight of his knees, and his warm hands stroked over her hips. The sudden contact made her jump a little, and she shivered, goose-bumps spreading over her skin in the cool air. She heard the rustle of plastic as he picked up a condom, and she looked over her shoulder, trying to see. He was looking down at himself, presumably rolling on the condom, and then he raised his head, meeting her eyes. He slid his hand up her back, running a finger back down the groove of her spine.

"Beautiful," he whispered, and slipped his hand between her legs. She inhaled sharply as he touched her, and the low growl that came from him made her abdomen clench. His fingers stroked against her, spreading her juices.

"God, you're wet!" he whispered, the finger leaving her. "You're soaking, sweetheart. All this sweet honey, all for me." He cut off, and she heard a wet, sucking sound, a smacking of lips.

"You taste incredible," he breathed, his accent thicker than ever. "You're fucking delicious, do you know that?"

She was panting, aching for him. Not being able to see what he was doing lent an extra frisson of excitement to the moment, and she gasped as his fingers curled around her hips, pulling her back against him. She could feel him, hard and hot, nestled between her legs, and his fingers reached for her again, teasing her clit and making her chew her lip.

"What do you want, Belle?" he murmured, and she almost yowled in frustration.

"Dammit, Rum!" she gasped, and scowled as he chuckled.

"Patience, sweetness," he said gently. "A virtue, I'm told."

"Well, one I'm running out of," she snapped, and threw her head back with a cry as he slipped two fingers inside her, pushing deep.

"How's that?" he whispered roughly. "Enough?"

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak, then felt him pushing at her, even as his fingers were sliding out. He fumbled a little, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her, and she let out a moan as he slid inside her, pushing in all the way until his warm skin pressed against the cool flesh of her buttocks. He groaned loudly as he entered, and she lifted her rear a little, allowing him to push further. The sensation was different this way; he was deeper inside her, she could feel every inch of him. He began to move, drawing out almost all the way before thrusting back into her, and she moaned as he did it, a slight pain from the impact. His fingers stroked her, circling her clit and making her writhe.

Gold plunged into her again, his fingertips dancing over her clit, sliding through the wet flesh, her fluids soaking him. He could see the muscles of her shoulders jerking and contracting as they moved, the light shining on the smoothness of her skin, the long, sweeping shadow of the hollow in her spine. He slid the flat of his hand up her back as he thrust in and out of her, the feel of her around him making him want to to burst. She threw her head back with a gasp, and he plunged his fingers into the soft, dark curls of her hair, wrapping it around his wrist and hand, twisting it into a rope and pulling her head back, lifting her up off the bed as he thrust. Belle cried out, arching her back, and he pinched at her clit, making her squeal. Her body was shaking, her climax approaching, and he rubbed along her folds, the first two fingers opening out around the girth of his cock, feeling the slick hardness of it moving in and out of her.

"Oh God!" moaned Belle, and he smirked.

"Most assuredly not, my dear," he said. His hand tightened in her hair, his fingers sliding against her, and she was bucking in time with his thrusts, the muscles in her back and shoulders tightening, her body quivering. She seemed to hold her breath, to still her movements, and then she came with a wordless cry, clenching around him, her hips jerking back and forth. The feel of it pulled him with her and he shouted his pleasure as darkness claimed his vision, his hands moving to her hips and tugging her against him as he thrust into her. They both fell forwards, and he retained enough presence of mind to grab the base of the condom as they moved, pulling out of her and lying down with his face pressed into her shoulder blades. Belle was twitching, still letting out tiny moans, and he smiled against the soft warmth of her skin, both of them panting loudly.

"That was amazing," she slurred. "I think my brains blew out of my ears."

He chuckled, kissing her shoulder. "A tragic waste," he said softly. "Are you alright?"

"I'll let you know when I can move," she murmured, and he grinned, pushing up off her and making his way to the tiny bathroom. When he went back inside the bedroom, she had burrowed beneath the covers and was watching him with sleepy eyes. He looked behind the bedroom door, unhooking the dark blue bathrobe that hung there and pulling it on. It was cold against his skin. Belle watched him, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and it made him want her all over again.

"Tea?" he offered, and she smiled widely.

"Please."

He made his way to the kitchenette, filling the kettle and putting it on while he got out the cups and teapot. The cabin was warming up nicely, the fire crackling in the large hearth, and he threw another couple of logs on it while he waited for the water to boil. He had poured hot water into the teapot and stacked everything on a tray when he heard a shuffling noise from behind him, and Belle came padding through from the bedroom, wrapped in his shirt. The colour suited her, the dark silk setting off her pale skin and deep pink lips, and for a moment he simply stared at her. She blushed under the intensity of his gaze, scratching the back of her head and rumpling her dark curls.

"I thought I'd give you a hand," she said, and he smiled, gesturing towards the fire, where the small couch sat.

"Let's have our tea in the warm," he said, and she nodded agreement, trotting over to the couch and curling her feet underneath her. He set the tray on the small table at the side, sitting next to her and letting her scoot close so that he could wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"How long have you had this place?" she asked.

"It came with the house," he said. "It was one of the reasons that I bought that house. I like solitude, at times."

"At times?" Her tone was dry. "I think you like solitude a _lot_."

"Hmm." He was amused. "Well, I'm enjoying the company I have right now."

She grinned up at him then, stretching up to press a soft kiss to his mouth, and he brushed her cheek with a finger.

* * *

Across town, Ruby sprawled across her boyfriend's bed, feeling relaxed and extremely happy. Peter raked a hand through his hair, yawning as he pulled on his pants.

"Want me to order a pizza?" he asked, and she grinned up at him.

"No olives," she said, and he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you have this weird aversion to olives," he sighed. "You've only told me, like, a hundred times."

She stuck out her tongue, to which he responded with a funny face, and she giggled as he made his way downstairs. The sound of a pack of wolves howling made her look up, and she clambered across the bed to dig her phone from her bag and answer a call. The howling cut off abruptly as she swiped her thumb across the screen.

"Hey, Granny," she said, glad that the call hadn't come through ten minutes ago.

"Just checking up on you," said Granny. "Are you girls having fun?"

"Tons!" said Ruby enthusiastically. "Did you want to speak to Belle?"

"No, no," said Granny hastily, as Ruby had known she would. "Just tell her I'll come over tomorrow to keep Moe company for an hour or two."

"Um - sure," said Ruby nervously. "Just - try not to be too early, you never know what sort of night he'll have."

"I'll be there around ten-thirty," said Granny cheerfully. "You have a good night, sweetheart."

Ruby bid her goodbye and put the phone down, frowning.

"What's up?" Peter flopped back on the bed, the pizza menu in his hand.

"Granny's going over to Belle's tomorrow," said Ruby gloomily. "I'd better call her. And we can't sleep late, either. I'll have to get over there around nine-thirty."

"How late were you planning on sleeping?" he asked, surprised, and she sighed, dialling Belle's number. It went to voicemail, and she frowned.

"I bet she forgot to charge it again," she said, rolling her eyes, and swiped at the phone, finding Belle's home number and pressing the icon to call. It rang several times before there was a click on the line, and a cheerful, but unfamiliar female voice answered.

"French residence."

"Um - hey," said Ruby uncertainly. "I think I dialled the wrong number, I wanted to speak to Belle."

"Oh! Oh, no, she's not here at the moment," said the woman, her voice bright and pleasant.

"Oh - okay." She must be the nurse. Ruby couldn't remember what the woman's name was, although Belle had mentioned it. "Well - could you ask her to call me when she gets back?"

"She won't be back tonight, honey," said the woman. "She's staying with her friend Ruby. Did you want me to take a message?"

"She - what?" Ruby wrinkled her nose, puzzled. A strange feeling of uncertainty and dread came over her. "Ruby, right? No, it's okay, I'll call her cell."

"Sure thing!" said the woman brightly, and Ruby put the phone down in the middle of her cheerful goodnight. So if Belle wasn't at home, and was telling her father she was with Ruby, where the hell was she?

* * *

Belle cradled her second cup of tea, her toes digging into the soft cushion covers of the couch. The fire was sending out a delightful heat, and she sipped at the hot tea, eyeing Gold as she did so. He was wrapped in his robe, skin visible at the top of his chest where it gaped open, and despite the fact that she had seen him fully naked already that evening, the sight of it was alluring. He took a sip of his tea, eyes flicking across to her, and she let her gaze run over his hair, the way it glinted in the firelight, the way the flicker of flames played along his cheekbones and the line of his nose. She smiled slightly, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You're very handsome, you know," she said, and he made a tiny noise of amusement in the back of his throat.

"I had no idea you had such terrible eyesight," he said dryly, and she tutted, nudging him gently with her elbow.

"I know _you_ don't think so," she said. "But I'm the one who has to look at you, so my opinion counts for more."

"Interesting logic," he remarked, taking another drink of tea. "Doesn't make me any prettier." He winked at her, and she grinned at him.

"What else did you want to do tonight?" she asked shyly, and he turned to her with a sly smirk.

"I thought we'd play backgammon," he suggested, and she sighed.

"You know what I mean," she grumbled, and he reached out, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"I do," he said gently. "Why don't we see how things go? I leave it up to you."

"Oh." Belle bit her lip. "I'd quite like to get on top of you, I think."

Gold almost choked on his tea, and she giggled delightedly.

"In front of the fire!" she added excitedly. "Can we do that?"

He was looking at her appraisingly, finger tapping against the edge of his cup.

"What?" she asked, suddenly nervous, and he shook his head.

"You constantly surprise me," he said eventually, and she shrugged, pleased.

"Well, then." She drained her cup, setting it aside, and bounced up off the couch, trotting through to the bedroom to retrieve one of the condoms. When she went back into the main room of the cabin he was watching her, eyes black above the rim of his cup, following the gentle sway of her hips as she walked. She flourished the condom, and he nodded, setting his empty cup aside and getting to his feet. Belle felt her breath catch in her throat as he stepped up to her, hands reaching up to cup her face, mouth finding hers. She rose up on her toes a little, letting out a tiny moan as his tongue entered her, and his fingers sent shivers through her as they stroked over her scalp.

Desire was rising in her again, and she wondered at it, wondered if others felt this when they were with the ones they cared about. She wondered whether Ruby felt like this whenever Peter kissed her, like she was freezing and burning and drowning all at once. Gold let his hands slip to her waist, pulling her closer, and she slid her hands up his chest, pushing aside the robe and touching his bare skin. He let out a pleasant, low groan when she touched his nipples, and experimentally she tried rubbing her thumbs over them. His groan deepened, and she filed away the information. Breaking the kiss, she dropped the condom between them and pushed the robe from his shoulders so that it fell to the floor with a soft thump. Looking down, she saw that he was already hard, and she reached out, running a gentle finger along the length of his cock and making him hiss. She touched his chest again, her fingers exploring him, and then, remembering what he had done to her, she bent her head to his nipple, taking it in her mouth.

Gold let his head roll back with a moan, his fingers gripping her buttocks through the thin silk of the shirt. She felt the nipple harden, and ran her tongue around it, enjoying the taste of his salt, his musky scent. He was pressed against her, his hard length lying against her belly, and she trailed her tongue across to his other nipple, wriggling slightly as his hands kneaded her buttocks. He swept his fingers up her back to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could kiss her hungrily, his tongue pushing into her mouth. It felt as though he was devouring her, pulling her soul from her body to meld with his, his kiss breathing life into her to fill the void it left.

Belle gasped as he released her lips, clinging to him as he kissed his way down her neck, his fingers sliding around to the front of the shirt, his touch burning her through the silk. He pulled back to concentrate on the buttons, unfastening them slowly and gently sliding the shirt from her shoulders, and she let it fall, the silk whispering against her skin as it hit the floor. The heat from the fire was warming her exposed skin, and he gently put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her down, lowering himself with her onto the rug before the hearth. He sat back on his heels, then lowered himself onto his back, pulling her with him, and Belle straddled him a little uncertainly, hands on his chest, his cock pressed into her wet flesh. He scrabbled on the floor with one hand, retrieving the condom, and waved it at her between finger and thumb.

"Move yourself a little, my sweet," he said softly, and she lifted up off him, allowing him to roll on the condom and guide himself into her. She braced herself with her palms on the flat of his belly, wriggling a little as she sank down onto him, her eyes widening.

" _Oh!"_ she breathed, and he grinned up at her, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"How's that?" he asked, sliding his hands along her thighs.

"Different," she admitted. "What do I do now?"

"Just move," he said. "Move your hips. Do what feels good."

She found it a little hard to get her balance at first, but she leant on his stomach as she rocked her hips, feeling the pull and tug of his muscles. He put his hands on her hips to guide her, making her movements longer and slower, and Belle closed her eyes in pleasure as the friction built between them, heat and wetness and the press of his body against her clit.

"That's good, little Belle," he breathed. "Just like that. _Just. Like. That_." He hissed the words in time with her thrusts, his eyes closed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, and she increased her pace, wanting the sensations she was creating to build, wanting to give him the kind of pleasure he'd given her. She was nearing climax herself, a familiar, wonderful warmth beginning to spread through her groin, and she ground against him, fingers digging into his skin, trying to find purchase.

Gold opened his eyes, watching her move, her pale skin turned a buttery, golden colour in the firelight, her dark hair bouncing around her slender shoulders, her full mouth moist and plump and waiting to be kissed. She was perfection, and he let his eyes slip down to her small breasts with their taut pink peaks, her flat belly, the shadowed hollow of her navel. Her juices had spread from the movements she made, and moisture glistened faintly on her inner thighs and on the lower part of his belly. He reached up to cup her breasts, smiling as they fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, gently squeezing the nipples between thumb and forefinger. Belle moaned, her head rolling as she moved against him, and her eyes flicked open, locking onto his.

He sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, helping her to move, rocking against her, and she twined her arms around his neck, her breasts pushing against his chest.

"That feels good," she whispered, and he smiled, lifting a hand to cup her face, to brush back her hair. He ran his thumb over the smooth curve of her cheek, and she smiled shyly, the dark crescents of her lashes fluttering as she leaned into his touch. He kissed her, his tongue opening her up as he thrust into her, as he rocked them, the sensation building between them. She moaned into his mouth and he pulled back a little, a thread of his saliva stretching between them and snapping back against his lips as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"You're beautiful," he growled. "So fucking beautiful. And mine. All mine."

"Yes!" she whispered, and he quickened the pace, pulling her tight, sliding a hand down between them to rub at her clit as they moved. Belle let out a cry, her pace erratic, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, and he slipped his wet finger under her chin,pulling it up.

"Look at me, Belle," he said sharply. "Look at me."

She opened dark, heavy-lidded eyes, shining with lust, her lower lip reddened where she had bitten it, and something within her gaze called to him, pulled at him. He kept his rhythm, drawing in her sweet breath with every inhalation, sending his own back to her on the out-breath, and she was staring at him, staring with those wide blue eyes that were older than her years, that seemed to see right through him. He knew he was coming, knew he couldn't hold back, and he pushed his brow against hers once more as he felt his climax hit, a hoarse cry erupting from him. He pulsed, emptying himself into her, and Belle cried out, bucking against him as he pulled her with him, her fingers twisting in his hair, the scent of her twisting up through his nostrils and making him dizzy.

They slowed, hot and sticky, and she wilted in his arms, so that he had to tighten his grip around her waist to keep her with him. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he stroked her hair, smiling as she pressed wet kisses up his neck and across his cheek. She leaned back a little, her hands on his shoulders, catching her breath, and seemed to study his face. A pale finger traced the line of his jaw, rasping against stubble, and she smiled at him, the light of adoration in her eyes.

"I am, you know," she whispered. "I'm yours, Rum. Always yours."

She was so beautiful, so incredible, and she was naked in his arms, smiling at him as though he was the only thing in the world she had ever wanted.

It was wonderful, unbelievable, and utterly terrifying.

* * *

 **A/N: Someone's in trouble, it seems.**

 **Next time: Belle finds an interesting way to wake up Gold, and Ruby has some questions to ask her.**


	9. Reverence

**A/N: You all seem to be enjoying the cabin smut, so I thought we could have some more this chapter. Thank you all for your continued support.**

* * *

Belle let her head rest against Gold's shoulder as he held her, as they caught their breath. She could feel him shrinking inside her, which was an odd sensation, and he worked his hand down between them to grasp the condom as he pulled out of her and kissed her ear.

"Up you get," he said quietly, and patted her rump.

She unwound her legs from around his waist, leaning on his shoulder to haul herself up, and made her way to the bathroom on wobbly legs, snatching up his shirt as she went and pulling it on. She passed him on the way back, his hand gently touching her shoulder, as if for reassurance.

While he was in the bathroom, she made her way into the little kitchenette, and started looking around for something to drink. She was thirsty, her throat dry, and she found a kettle and filled it with water for tea. A search of the cupboards produced herbal teabags, so she made a pot of chamomile. They drank it sitting on the couch, and she felt a little sleepy as the heat from the fire washed over them. Gold made her eat, though: he had brought cheese and cooked ham, crusty bread and sticky cinnamon buns from the Storybrooke bakery. She felt better after their little picnic, and crawled into his lap to kiss the cinnamon and sugar from his lips. He let out a contented sound as his tongue stroked hers, and she pressed herself against him briefly before pulling back, a smile on her face.

"I like kissing you," she said shyly, and a corner of his mouth rose up.

"Well, I like you kissing me," he said lightly, and she sighed, running her fingers through his hair and watching as it fell around his face again, silver strands catching the light. His grin widened, and he kissed her palm, hands shifting on her waist.

"I think I might take a shower," she said then, trailing a finger over his cheek and feeling the rasp of stubble. "Want to join me?"

His brows jerked upwards, but then he smiled, and nodded, and she slipped off his lap, pulling him with her to the tiny bathroom. The facilities at the cabin were basic; there was a toilet, sink and corner shower, tiled in dark grey slate. Gold showed her how to work it, turning the handle to let out the cold spray, and then they stood, shivering, as they waited for the hot water to come through.

"I'll warn you, it only lasts twenty minutes at most," he said, and she shrugged, peeling off the shirt she was wearing and making his eyes widen.

"Long enough," she said, and pulled him with her under the shower.

The water was warm rather than hot, but it felt pleasant cascading over their naked bodies. Belle wondered if it would feel this way to kiss him in the rain, in a sudden downpour in Florida or New Orleans or a tropical island. Her mind took the little fantasy and ran with it, imagined them both on holiday, where no one knew them, where they wouldn't have to sneak around and lie. His arms pulled her body close against his, her breasts squashing against his chest, and Belle moaned as he kissed her, his lips sliding against hers. His hand moved down between her legs, and his fingers teased her, thumb gently stroking her clit as they pushed up inside her.

Gold kissed her messily, his tongue sliding into her mouth and catching the spray from the shower like warm rain as his fingers slipped inside her. Belle inhaled deeply, hands sliding up his arms, and she clung to his shoulders as he caressed her. She let her head roll back, moaning, and he kissed down her throat, nibbling at the tender flesh of her neck. Her skin was delicious, a hint of salt amongst the sweetness from their earlier exertions, and she raked her fingers through his soaking hair, undulating, her body pressed against his. His thumb was circling, circling, and she stiffened, pressing herself against him, rising up on her toes. He kept his rhythm, gently teasing her, and she broke with a wail, her head flopping onto his shoulder as she whispered affirmations, her nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned at the sound of her pleasure, shivers running through him as she nipped at his neck.

"Condom?" she murmured, and he bent his head to kiss her, his tongue pushing into her mouth, tasting her, loving the feel of her rubbing against the hardness of his cock. Luckily, he had had the presence of mind to slip a couple of condoms into his robe, and he left her momentarily to fish one out, rolling it on as she watched with a hungry expression. He straightened up, pushing her back against the cool slate tiles, and she opened her mouth for him as he lined them up.

"God, I want you, Belle!" he said roughly, and she swallowed his words, her tongue flickering out and pulling him in as he slipped a hand beneath her thigh and lifted her leg, pressing against her. She relaxed, letting him enter, moaning in pleasure as he filled her. She felt so hot, so tight, gripping him as he pushed deeper.

"You feel so good!" she whispered, and kissed the side of his neck as he began to move, as he began to thrust, shoving her against the wall. He sank his teeth into her neck, tasting her, the water from the shower running over her skin and into his mouth as she wrapped her leg around his waist. He licked up her neck, slamming her against the tiles as he moved, as he got deeper inside her, and she moaned, her nails digging into him, sliding up over his shoulders and tangling in his hair. Gold growled, loving the way she tightened around him, the position hell on his ankle but wonderfully erotic, the feel of the warm water running over them delicious against his naked skin, the curves of her breasts sliding against his chest. He was almost slipping out of her, his thrusts frantic, and she nipped at his neck as he pushed into her her wet heat, wishing he could feel her fully, that there was nothing between them. He could feel his climax building, could feel the tensing of his muscles and the warmth that started to spread through him, a tight ball of tingling sensations in his lower back. He quickened his pace a little, and she worried at his neck with small, white teeth, licking up to his ear and making him groan as her tongue pushed inside.

"Come!" she whispered, and he let go with a cry, pulsing within her, scalded by his own heat, and she burst into giggles as she buried her face in his hair.

"I love feeling you do that!" she breathed, and he felt as though his head would explode. She was tight around him, her lips soft and wet against his skin, and he sucked in air, trying to steady his pounding heart. Belle pulled back and put her head to the side, watching him curiously.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"This can't be bloody good for me!" he said desperately, and she giggled again, patting his shoulder so that he slipped out of her.

The water was getting increasingly tepid, so they washed quickly and got out, wrapping themselves in thick towels and curling up in front of the fire while their hair dried. Belle was growing sleepy, and Gold stood up when he noticed her stifling a yawn for the third time.

"Bed," he said gently, holding out a hand. "Just to sleep, I think"

She pulled a face, but allowed him to lead her into the bedroom. It was cooler there without the fire, and she shivered a little as he threw back the covers and climbed in naked, beckoning to her. She dropped her towel and wriggled beneath the blankets, cuddling up to him contentedly as he reached to switch off the lamp.

"Goodnight, little Belle," he said softly, and kissed the top of her head as her eyes fluttered closed.

* * *

The call of nature pulled Belle out of sleep, and she tried to ignore it for a while, being warm and comfortable with Gold spooned up around her back. Eventually, however, her bladder won out, and she slipped from his arms, padding on bare feet to the bathroom as she yawned and rubbed her eyes. When she came out, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and there was a finger of moonlight shining in through the bedroom curtains and lying in a bright stripe across the blankets. Gold had rolled onto his back and was breathing lightly through his nose, his head tilted towards her, and she smiled softly, her belly clenching a little as she remembered the things they had done. She clambered back into bed, pulling the blankets over them and nestling against his chest, breathing him in. He smelt of musk and a little of his cologne, and she kissed his nipple, marvelling at how it hardened at her touch. She kissed across his chest, teasing his other nipple with her teeth a little, and he stretched beneath her, inhaling deeply.

"Don't you sleep?" he murmured, and she chuckled, sucking the nipple in between her lips and then letting it slip out.

"When I'm in bed with you, Mr Gold?" she asked, amused. "Kind of a waste."

She felt him stretch to the side, flicking the switch of one of the little lamps, and warm light spilled out into the room. He was watching her sleepily, his eyes heavy-lidded and his hair rumpled, and she began kissing his chest again, wriggling so that she was on top of him, her legs down between his. She could feel him hardening against her belly, and smirked to herself as she kissed lower, down over the flat of his stomach. She pushed the bedclothes with her as she went, and Gold let out a hissing breath as his cock brushed between her breasts.

"Belle!" he gasped, and she pushed his legs apart, hands on his thighs.

"I want to try something," she said. "Lie still."

She wriggled further down, exposing him as she moved the bedclothes, and slid her hands slowly up his inner thighs, feeling the soft tickle of the fine, dark hairs on his legs. She took time to study him, the darker, longer hair at his groin, the egg-shaped balls in the soft sac of skin between his legs. Belle ran a finger over them, tracing the outline, and he sucked in his breath as she touched him.

"Does that hurt?" she asked anxiously, looking up, and saw a lazy smile spread across his face.

"No, sweetness, it doesn't hurt," he said. "Just be gentle with them, and it'll be fine."

"Oh." She let her finger trail upwards, to where his cock lay, hard and thick against his belly. Considering it had been inside her many times, she knew little about how it looked, so she made sure to study it closely. The dark hair that covered his balls didn't touch it, merely surrounding the base and stretching upwards over his lower belly in a thin line. His cock was smooth, the skin there darker than the rest of him, and she ran a finger up it slowly, tracing the thick vein on its underside, encircling the groove beneath the softer head and making him gasp.

"Does it feel nice when I touch it?" she asked, and his smile was lazy, contented.

"Wonderful," he said softly.

Belle turned back to him, shifting again as she tried to get comfortable. She was very close to him, and the scent of him was stronger, a musky, heady smell that seemed to fill her head and pull her to him. She bent to kiss his inner thigh, tiny, soft dark hairs brushing her lips, and gently kissed her way up, towards his balls. Gold let out a strangled noise as she pressed her lips to one of them, and experimentally she flicked her tongue out, running it across the curved surface.

"God, Belle!" he whispered frantically, and she grinned. Well, if he liked _that_ …

She trailed her tongue around each of his balls, listening as his breathing grew ragged and he swore softly. The tip of her tongue reached the base of his cock, and she gently licked around it, before slowly pressing kisses up his length.

"Sweetheart!" he begged, and she raised her eyes. He was staring at her imploringly, his dark eyes with a hint of desperation in them, and she wrinkled her nose.

"I don't really know what I'm doing here," she admitted. "You'll have to tell me if I do something wrong."

"You're doing nothing wrong," he promised her. "You're doing so, so well, my sweet."

She grinned happily, bending her head to him once more. She noticed that fluid had leaked from the tip and dripped onto his stomach, a tiny, whitish blob shining in the light from the lamp. A thin thread of it stretched up to the end of his cock like a glistening strand of spider-silk, and she ran her fingertip over the head, spreading the moisture. It was slippery, a little like her own fluids when she was aroused, and she wondered how it tasted. She kissed him again, pressing lips against his heat, then ran her tongue up his length and back down. His hands dropped to push through her hair, stroking over her scalp as she licked around the underside of the head. He tasted of salt and musk, very masculine and somehow addictive, and she wondered if this was why he liked to taste her, to bury his head between her legs and lick her into a frenzy.

She used the flat of her tongue, drawing it slowly up the hard heat of his length. This time she didn't stop at the underside of the head, but swirled her tongue around the head itself, feeling how it was slightly spongy compared to the rest of his cock. She swept up the thin film of his pre-cum and tasted it, salty and almost sharp at the back of her tongue.

" _Fuck!"_ he gasped, his fingers twisting in her hair, and she smirked, pulling back a little. She hesitated as she looked down at his cock; she knew that she was supposed to take it in her mouth - she had read that much - and that he probably wouldn't appreciate it if she bit him. She also knew that it fitted inside her very well, if snugly, but her mouth didn't really - stretch. Telling herself that she would never find out if she didn't try, she took him in her hand, holding him steady, and pressed her pursed lips to the tip. He arched his back with a loud groan as she slowly took him inside her mouth, her lips sliding over the hot skin, her tongue swirling.

" _Belle!"_ he moaned, and she sucked him in further, until he hit the back of her throat and made it close up around him. She pulled back a little, lips sliding over him, pulling at his skin, and began to settle into a rhythm, her tongue wrapping around his length. He groaned loudly, lifting his hips to meet her, thrusting into her mouth, and she tried not to gag as she took him too deep. He was leaking again, his taste spreading across her tongue, and she swallowed, her saliva sweet in contrast to the salty fluid coming from him.

"God, sweetheart, that's amazing!" he hissed, and she quickened her pace, feeling him writhe beneath her, feeling him arch his back as he groaned aloud, his breath coming in pants. His cock was hardening further in her mouth, rigid and straining, and he seemed to hold his breath for a moment, then jerked his upper torso off the bed a little, his stomach muscles bunching as he grasped her shoulders.

"Belle, stop!" he said frantically. "Stop, please!"

She pulled back, letting him slip from her mouth with a soft pop, and he fell back, throwing his head back and arching his body. He groaned long and deep as he came, his cock pulsing, strings of white fluid squirting out of him to lie in glistening ropes on his belly. Belle sat back on her heels, watching him as he twitched, his arm thrown up over his face. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, and she bit her lip as she tried to think of what she had done wrong. She waited for him to calm a little, his breathing steadying before she spoke.

"I'm - I'm sorry," she ventured, and the arm moved, exposing a dark eye, his flushed cheek.

"What?" he asked weakly, and she shrugged, fingers twisting awkwardly in the air.

"I did something wrong, right?" she said unhappily. "Just - please tell me I didn't hurt you. I didn't, did I? I'm so, so sorry, Rum! I guess I need to read up on that a little more."

She looked down, feeling awful, and there was a moment of silence before he spoke.

"Oh, no, Belle!" he said urgently. "No, no, no, sweetheart, you don't understand!" He sat up, grasping her upper arms and pulling her to him so that he could press kisses to her face, her neck, her breasts.

"It was incredible," he said hoarsely. " _You_ are incredible. I just - I didn't think you'd want me to do it in your mouth, that's all." He cupped her face, kissing her deeply, and she melted into him, the stickiness on him rubbing off onto her upper thighs as he pulled her against him. Eventually he leaned back, gently kissing the tip of her nose.

"It was wonderful," he said softly, pressing his forehead against hers, and she beamed at him, her arms around his waist as she breathed his scent.

"You know," she said tentatively. "I don't know that I'd mind. You doing it in my mouth, that is. Maybe next time we could try."

He sat back a little, shaking his head, his thumb stroking across her lower lip, fingers caressing her cheek, and the intensity of his gaze made her a little nervous.

"What?" she whispered, and he smiled briefly.

"You are - extraordinary," he said simply, and she bit her lip, embarrassed but pleased.

"Why?" she said. "Because I want to give you a - a blowjob?"

He shook his head. "No, no," he said gently, the backs of his fingers grazing her cheek. "Because you want to please me."

She shrugged. "Well, you like pleasing _me_ , right?" she said, and he grinned, suddenly wicked.

"Indeed," he growled, and she squealed as he rolled her onto her back and began kissing his way down her body.

* * *

It had gone four when they turned off the light and snuggled together in the warm heat of the blankets, surrounded by the scent of their pleasure. Gold fell asleep quickly, pleasant dreams of kissing Belle, of holding Belle, invading his mind. He was a light sleeper, though, and the dawn chorus awoke him, the chittering of birds in the trees around the cabin pulling him up out of his contented fantasies. Squinting at his watch, he saw that it was just after seven, and he gently eased Belle's arm off his chest and slipped from the bed, tugging on underwear and pants and tiptoeing through to the kitchenette.

He made enough coffee for two, but decided to let her sleep a little longer, pouring for both of them and setting hers on the nightstand beside her, in the hope that the smell would wake her up. She moved in her sleep, huffing air through her mouth in a soft sigh, and Gold smiled slightly as he looked down at her. She was lying with her arm curled up near her face, pale, slender fingers resting on the pillow, a strand of dark hair lying across her cheek. Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks a little flushed, and she looked terribly young. Feeling awkward, the familiar guilt twisting in his belly, he backed away, carrying his coffee out of the bedroom, opening the back door of the cabin and stepping out onto the porch that overlooked the lake. The morning was cold, and he was glad he'd thought to put on his overcoat. He sat down on the wooden bench, steam rising from his coffee cup, and looked out over the lake. At this time of year, the insects were few, and lazy flies buzzed over the surface of the water with a low drone. He sipped his coffee, listening to the rustle and chirp of birds and woodland creatures, his breath misting in the cold air. He breathed in deeply, the air almost painful in his lungs. Snow would fall soon, cloaking the woods in a thick, white blanket, but he would still be able to reach the cabin; the Cadillac had snow chains, after all, and the solitude would be welcome. Idly, he wondered if Belle would still want to come here, in the dead of winter. Would she still want to see him? Would she, perhaps, have moved on by then?

A wisp of steam from the coffee caught in his nose, its rich scent warm at the back of his throat. He took a sip, the dark liquid bitter on his tongue, the heat scalding him on its way down. He relaxed a little more, sighing slightly and stretching out his legs in front of him. He was tired, but he almost felt content, something he hadn't experienced in decades. Rolling his eyes, he reminded himself that his pleasure was a fleeting thing, that Belle would soon move on with her life, and that he should try to prepare himself for when that happened. Curling his lip sourly, he took another drink of coffee.

The chirp of birds from across the small lake increased slightly, and he looked up at a slight rustle in the undergrowth. Suddenly, from between two birch trees, a young white-tailed deer appeared, black nose twitching nervously. It was a doe, he saw, a youngster, awkward and not yet full-grown, long, spindly legs picking delicately and almost silently through the leaf litter. She lifted her head, nostrils flaring, black eyes wide and liquid as she looked out across the lake. Her eyes looked into his for a second, and he forgot to breathe. She was standing very still, her reddish-brown coat ruffled by the breeze, the odd gnat buzzing around her head. Her ears twitched, trying to catch the slightest sound, and he watched her, the rapid rise and fall of her ribs beneath the chestnut fur, the smooth whiteness of her throat, the twitching of her snout as she lifted it, sniffing for danger. She didn't appear to smell him, and he stayed very still, not even lifting his coffee cup. She approached the water cautiously, looking around once more before bending her head to drink. He remained perfectly still, his heart thumping high in his chest until he was sure she would hear it, would sense what he was feeling. He watched her drink, silver droplets of water dripping from her small, dark mouth, her long tongue slipping out to catch them.

He leant back slowly as she drank, trying not to make a sound, and the forest continued to wake around them. The young doe lifted her head, eyes swivelling back and forth as she licked her lips, tongue curling up to brush her snout. A bluejay called, a harsh, strident sound, and the doe pushed back, suddenly fearful. Gold watched, fascinated, as she twitched and sniffed, dark eyes watching the woods around her. Her head turned from left to right, and she suddenly appeared to notice him, her eyes staring at him in fear. He tried to remain still, to be non-threatening, but her nose twitched, and her back legs jerked, and suddenly she was gone, streaking away into the bushes in a blur of chestnut, the white tuft of her rump flashing in the early morning light.

He let out a breath, sighing softly, and sipped at his coffee, which was cooling in the morning air. His eyes closed, and he let his mind drift. The events of the past twelve hours had left him almost speechless, and he was at a loss for what to say to the girl in his bed. She was incredible, breathtaking, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain any sort of distance between them. The tiny part of him that retained a sense of decency told him he was a bloody coward, that he should push her away for her own good, but the rest of him called for her, wanted to go back inside the cabin and wrap himself around her and shut out the world. He wished that were possible. He wished that there were no rules for them to break, that it was two hundred years earlier and he could simply have made her father an offer for her hand. He wished that he could spend his mornings waking up beside her, and his nights showing her every way to love that he knew.

Sighing to himself, he sipped at his coffee, and turned his head at a soft shuffling from the doorway. Belle appeared, clad in the rumpled silk of his shirt and yawning sleepily. He couldn't help smiling at her; with her long legs and big eyes she reminded him of the young deer, as though she were a forest nymph, a shape-changer. He patted his knee, lifting his cup out of the way as she sat down and nestled against his chest.

"You'll get cold," he remarked, opening up his coat and putting what he could of it around her.

"You're warm," she countered, rubbing her head against his chest, and he pushed his face into her fragrant hair, hiding his smile.

"We should go back soon," he said softly, and she sighed.

"I know." She made no move to get up, though. "I guess Granny didn't call to check up on Ruby."

"What?" he asked, perplexed, and she giggled.

"Oh, Ruby told Granny she was sleeping over at my place, when she was actually with her boyfriend. Just like I told Astrid I was staying at Ruby's." She looked up at him, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You did a round robin without Ruby being aware of it?" he asked flatly. "What if she called your house?"

"She won't, she'd call my cell," said Belle dismissively. "My phone didn't ring, so I guess she was having way too much fun."

"Hmm." Gold drank the last of his coffee. "You do realise that the mobile signal is intermittent at best out here?"

Belle sat up, alarmed. "What?"

He jerked his head to the cabin. "Try standing out front, it's probably best there."

She pushed up off his lap with a frantic exclamation, running into the cabin, and he shook his head fondly.

Belle rummaged in her bag, pulling out her phone and biting her lip anxiously. Sure enough, there was no signal. Swearing under her breath, she pulled her coat on over Gold's shirt and went out of the front door, turning around until she got a signal, weak though it was. It didn't take long for several text messages to show on her phone.

 _WE NEED TO TALK!_

 _Honey, I'm worried. Please call so I can sleep!_

 _Belle, where the hell are you? Call me!_

 _BEELLLLLEEEEE! Srsly, I'm dying here! Don't make me call the cops!_

The last message had been sent at three-thirty in the morning, and Belle felt a tide of guilt wash over her. Hoping that Ruby was asleep, she sent a quick message back saying that she was fine, and she'd be going home soon. She waited, shivering slightly as the cold air nipped at her bare legs, and her phone beeped.

 _I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!_

* * *

They were back in Storybrooke by eight-thirty, and Gold dropped her off where he had picked her up. The road was deserted at that time on a Sunday, but she still looked around anxiously. He waited patiently, brown eyes scanning the road ahead, and she twisted in her seat, the leather squeaking softly and making him turn his head. He looked tired, shadows beneath his eyes, but she supposed they hadn't slept much. She didn't feel in the least bit guilty.

"I had a great time," she said shyly, and he smiled at her.

"As did I," he said, and she kissed him lightly before pulling away.

"I - I guess I'll see you soon," she said. "Assuming Ruby doesn't kill me, of course."

He grinned at that, gently touching her cheek, and she returned his smile, her heart swelling. She opened the door, slipping out with her bag in her hand, and trotted off down the street.

* * *

Astrid was awake and making her father breakfast, and she chatted happily to Belle about their evening, adding eggs to the pan so they could all eat together. Moe was pleased to see her, and looked rested, although he was showing a little strain around the eyes. He returned her quick hug, though, and she tried not to think about how thin he was getting. He only ate half of the breakfast Astrid had made, and Belle bit her lip as he grimaced and rubbed at his belly.

"Feels like I'm gonna be sick, love," he said almost apologetically. "I'll try and finish the rest in a while."

She didn't believe him, but took the plates downstairs anyway, and was running the hot water in the sink when there was a knock at the door. Turning off the water, and wiping her hands, she made her way through to the hall, and groaned inwardly as she saw Ruby's familiar face peering through the little window high up in the door, a red beret perched on her dark hair. Telling herself that she may as well get it over with, Belle opened the door, and Ruby looked her up and down suspiciously.

"Hey," she said, a little uncertainly. "Can I come in? Granny's coming over around ten-thirty to keep your dad company for an hour, so I thought I should get my ass over here."

"Of course!" Belle ushered her in, taking the overnight bag from her shoulder and shoving it in the lounge where Astrid would be unlikely to go in the next half hour. Ruby stood with her arms folded as Belle closed the door, then followed her upstairs. Belle racked her brains as she climbed. She had still not thought of a believable excuse for what she had done, and was thinking that she was going to have to wing it. She had never been good at lying. She shut her bedroom door and turned to Ruby, who had started pacing a little nervously, swinging her arms open and closed.

"Okay," she said eventually, turning sharply on the balls of her feet. "I had a lot of time to think about this. So far I've worked out that you lied to your dad about staying with me, and you also asked me for condoms, so I've figured out that there's a guy involved."

There was really no point in denying it, so Belle nodded. Ruby flopped down on the bed, long legs swinging.

"The thing I _haven't_ worked out is who it is, and why you would feel the need to hide that you were seeing someone," she said, looking up at Belle imploringly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't," muttered Belle, stomping over to sit down beside her and draw her feet up.

"Okay…" Ruby studied her face, as though she was looking for clues in Belle's expression. "So, who's this mystery guy you're sleeping with? You _are_ sleeping with him, right? I didn't spend half the night freaking out for you not to get some?"

Belle blushed, and Ruby grinned.

"So - his identity…" she mused. "It's not that exchange student, is it? The one with the glasses?" She shook her head even before Belle answered. "I _know_ it's not Gaston or any of those creeps." She sighed, giving up, and nudged Belle. "Go on, spill."

Belle hesitated. "I can't tell you," she said eventually, and Ruby frowned.

"Why not?" she asked. "Since when do we keep secrets?" She put her head to the side, looking Belle over, and her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh God, he's not married is he? You didn't hook up with some creepy married older guy?"

Belle shook her head, and Ruby frowned again.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" she asked worriedly.

"No, no!" said Belle hastily. "No, it's nothing like that, I just...I can't tell you, Rubes. I promised I wouldn't."

Ruby shook her head. "I don't like the sound of this, Belle. You're lying to your dad, you lied to me…" She sighed, putting a gentle hand on Belle's shoulder. "What _is_ it, honey? Is it really so bad you really can't tell me?"

Belle chewed her lip, hands twisting awkwardly in her lap.

"You wouldn't understand," she said uncomfortably.

Ruby blinked rapidly, as though she was trying not to cry, and Belle felt awful.

"Well, whether or not that's true," said Ruby carefully. "Why the hell would you ever think I wouldn't support you?"

Belle shut her eyes, swallowing hard. "I don't, I mean…"

Ruby sat back, and the silence grew, becoming uncomfortable. Deafening.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" said Ruby eventually, sounding terribly sad, and Belle gave her a pleading look.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't, Rubes."

Ruby looked away, studying her painted nails. She was hurt, Belle knew that, but it was the only way.

"Just promise me you're not in trouble," she said quietly, and Belle nodded.

"I'm not in trouble," she said gently, and squeezed Ruby's arm, making her look around. Belle smiled.

"I'm _happy_ , Rubes," she said softly. "I'm so, so happy, you have no idea. I wish I could tell you, I really do, because he's so good to me." She dropped her eyes, smiling a little at the memory of Gold's mouth on her, of his gentle caress, of his searing kisses. Ruby was giving her a dry, but amused look.

"There are - reasons - that I can't tell you right now, and I hate it," admitted Belle. "The moment I can tell you, I will, I promise."

Ruby was looking a little happier, though still suspicious.

"And you promise me he's not married?" she said sternly, and Belle crossed her heart with a forefinger. Ruby nodded.

"Then I guess I'll wait until you're ready," she said. "Just don't ever scare me like that again, okay?"

Belle hugged her, pleased that Ruby had been at least a little understanding, and hating that she had to keep the secret. Ruby hugged her back, but then pulled away with a giggle, wrinkling her nose.

"You might want to take a shower, though," she suggested. "You kind of smell like men's cologne and sex." Her eyes sparkled, and Belle groaned. Ruby may not know her lover's identity, but that would never stop her teasing.

* * *

 **A/N: We had a little break from angst in this chapter.**

 **Next time: Carella gives advice without meaning to.**


	10. Acceptance

**A/N: This is an un-smutty chapter, you may not be pleased to hear. Thanks to everyone reading and commenting on this story, it really means a lot.**

* * *

Granny turned up at half past ten on the dot, and Belle took her up to see Moe, promising to make tea. She made some for herself and Ruby as well. Her nerves were on edge the whole time, worried that Moe would mention something about her staying over the previous night, and Granny contradicting it, but when she took the tea in they were talking about the neighbourhood gossip instead, and she smiled. Moe was somewhat insulated from the goings-on in Storybrooke, lying in bed all day, and he listened with a smile as Granny explained who was thought to be having an affair (Principal Mills and Mr Milliner, the art teacher, which made Belle giggle), the fact that the Council was talking about re-opening the library (Belle's ears pricked up at that), and the new recipe she was trying for blueberry pie (she had brought him a piece). The company seemed to perk Moe up, and he ate half the piece of pie, asking Belle to put the other half in the fridge for later.

Granny stayed for two hours, and when she finally bid Moe a cheerful goodbye and came to collect Ruby from Belle's room, she was smiling. Her expression changed as Belle led them downstairs to let them out, however. Granny beckoned her out onto the porch, and Belle followed, the smile falling from her face at Granny's serious look.

"I can't believe it's only been two weeks since I saw him," she said. "He's much worse than I thought."

Belle bit her lip. "I know," she admitted. "I'm trying not to think about it."

Granny enveloped her in a hug, and Belle relaxed against her, cushioned by her impressive bosom, surrounded by strong arms and the scent of lavender. It was comforting, reminding her of being hugged by her own grandmother. It also reminded her that her grandmother was gone, as well as her mother, and that her father would soon be following. She clung to Granny a little longer than she had planned to, and the old woman stroked her hair and whispered soothing nonsense.

"You can get through this, honey," she said softly. "Ruby and I will be here, don't you worry."

"I know." Belle's voice was muffled by Granny's thick grey cardigan. The hug had helped, and she felt a little better as she pulled back.

"I'll come over on Friday," said Granny decidedly. "See if he's up for a little poker, like we used to do."

Belle gave her a watery smile. "You'd take advantage of a dying man? That's terrible."

Granny snorted. "I always used to kick his ass," she sniffed. "We can play for matchsticks if it makes you feel better."

Belle laughed then. "He'd never stand for it, and you know it," she said, grinning, and Granny nodded firmly.

"It's a date, then," she said, and patted Belle's shoulder. "I'll see you soon, honey. You take care of each other, you hear me?"

Ruby hugged her too, smiling over her shoulder as she left, and Belle watched them go, feeling a little happier. Shutting the door, she went through to the kitchen and down to the basement to take the laundry from the drier. Basket in hands, she made her way up the stairs, and heard Moe calling for her as she passed the bedroom. She dumped the basket of clean clothes and walked in to see him, smiling.

"So, I hear poker night's back on," she said. "Don't gamble away the family silver, okay?"

He chuckled, but patted the edge of the bed.

"I need to talk to you about something, love," he said, and she sat down in the chair beside him, immediately anxious. He was looking at her steadily, and she suddenly felt like crying.

"We have to talk about what happens when I'm gone," he said gently, and she looked away, screwing up her eyes in pain.

"I don't want to think about that," she whispered, and he grasped her hand, his fingers clammy.

"You have to, angel," he said softly. "I don't think there's much time left. Weeks, maybe. A couple of months if I'm lucky. I need to know you'll be taken care of."

Tears were brimming in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the heel of her hand.

"What…" She cut off, squeezing her eyes shut and letting more tears fall before she could compose herself. "What happens to me?"

"I asked Granny if she'd agree to be your legal guardian until you're eighteen," he said. "She was happy to agree. She said you and Ruby had always acted like sisters, anyway." He looked at her a little uncertainly. "If - if you're okay with it, sweetheart."

Belle smiled tearfully. "Of course, but - both of us at Granny's? She may regret this."

"I think she's hoping you'll be a calming influence on Ruby," he chuckled, and Belle tried to be cheerful, for his sake.

"Will there be paperwork to sign?" she asked, and he nodded.

"She'll make an appointment for a lawyer to come talk to me," he said. "The court will need to agree, and I want to get this all sorted out before I get too ill to do it, Belle. You do understand?"

"Of course," she whispered, and she did understand, she did. But it felt as though he was slipping further away from her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The conversation with her father had left her feeling depressed. Astrid had the rest of the day off, so she filled her day by catching up on homework and spending time with Moe. He could see that she was upset, and he tried to be cheerful, but he tired quickly, and she let him sleep at around eight o'clock, turning off the light and going downstairs to sit at the kitchen table and stare into space. It was restful, letting her mind shut down for a while, not focusing on anything while the kitchen clock ticked along, a soft, metronomic sound in the silent room. It was calming, almost meditative, but when she realised that she had been there for an hour she pushed herself up out of the chair and went to bed.

* * *

She felt no better the next day, and slept badly besides, so she walked to school in something of a daze, hugging her books to her chest as though they would somehow protect her. Ruby met her at the diner with a wide smile that faded as she saw Belle's face.

"Did something happen?" she asked anxiously, and Belle shook her head, somewhat tearful.

"I just - he's not getting better," she said wearily. "I have to accept that. He wanted to talk to me about what happens - after.

Ruby nodded soberly. "Granny told me," she said, and grasped Belle's shoulders. "I guess we really will be sisters."

Belle sent her a wobbly smile, and Ruby hugged her tight. It felt as though she was sending some of her strength, some of her optimism, into Belle, and it was gratefully received.

* * *

School went badly that day. Her mind was elsewhere, her attention divided. After failing to answer a question for the third time in her last class of the day, Ruby nudged her and raised a questioning eyebrow, and Belle sighed and looked at the clock. Ten more minutes.

"I apologise for boring you, Miss French," sniffed the biology teacher, Mrs Schumann. "I realise it's Monday, but I would have hoped that you, at least, would have done the required reading."

"Sorry," said Belle vaguely. "I'm not feeling so good."

Mrs Schumann looked at her over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses, the fine chain that secured them around her neck swinging and winking in the light.

"Yes, you do look a little pale," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you ought to go and get some air. No doubt Miss Lucas can explain the process of fertilisation in your stead."

Ruby almost groaned, but Belle pushed her chair back readily, picking up her bag and books and leaving the room. Once outside, she leant against the wall for a moment, taking a deep breath as she thought things over. Having made a decision, she set off down the corridor. After a few moments, she arrived at one of the other science classrooms, and peered in through the window. Gold was teaching a class on the periodic table, gesturing towards lithium and potassium. She smiled fondly as she remembered learning that; he had made them all crouch down behind their desks before tossing a lump of potassium into water, which had promptly reacted so violently that the water was thrown around the room. When the students had expressed enthusiasm over the reaction, his mouth had thinned, and he had said that they should have been taught it two years ago.

The class ended, and he released the students, the scraping of chairs loud as they gathered their things. Belle pulled back from the window as they began leaving the room, some sending her curious looks. She blushed a little, ducking her head behind her books and reassuring herself that they would assume she was just another student. When she entered the classroom he was wiping down the whiteboard, and for a moment she took pleasure in watching his rear wiggle in the suit pants he was wearing.

"Hey," she said, and he dropped the board wiper, scrabbling for it on the floor before turning to her and flicking his hair out of his face.

"Hey," he said quietly, and then frowned slightly. "Is everything alright?"

Belle's lip wobbled. Dammit, he could _see_. She bit her lip, and he stared at her for a moment.

"Belle, what is it?" he asked gently, and she twisted her mouth, looking up at the ceiling as she shrugged.

"Papa said he's not going to get better," she began, not looking at him. "I mean, I knew that anyway, but it kind of - hit me, I suppose. He wanted to talk about what happens - after." She hunched her shoulders slightly as she looked at the ground, as though it would protect her, and heard the tap of his cane as he approached her, watching the glossy black leather of his shoe enter her field of view.

"What have you both decided?" he asked, and she raised her head. She liked that question, the way he had assumed she had been consulted, that she would have some say in what became of her.

"Granny has agreed to be my legal guardian," she said, and his mouth quirked at the corner.

"No doubt she's hoping that you will keep Miss Lucas in line," he said, amused, and Belle broke into a reluctant giggle.

"Hasn't happened so far, but I guess I can try," she said, blinking away the tears that had formed in her eyes. His face softened, and he reached out, gently brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She screwed up her eyes, swallowing hard to try and stop herself from crying.

"It's just - I know he's dying," she said, her voice trembling a little. "I _know_ that. But I'd hoped we might at least have Christmas together. I don't know what I'll do without him."

She hung her head, biting the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from breaking down. She wished he'd hold her, but knew he wouldn't. He continued to touch her though, his thumb brushing over her lip, fingertips dancing across her cheek, and the contact was soothing.

"You wanted to ask me something," he said softly, and she tried to pull her attention away from her melancholy, from the darkness surrounding her and making her want to weep, concentrating on the warmth of his touch. She raised her head, and there was such tenderness in his eyes it made her heart clench.

"Can I see you?" she asked. "This week? Can I come over? I think I could really use the company for a couple of hours. Just to let me know I'm not going mad." She let out a laugh as she said it, but it felt forced, and she snapped her mouth shut to keep it inside, the sound too high, too brittle. He was studying her face, brown eyes running over the curves of her pale cheeks, the pink bloom of her lips.

"Why don't I make you dinner?" he asked quietly. "Thursday evening after your lessons. How about that?"

"I - okay." Belle was pleased. "Do I bring anything?"

He shook his head, his hair catching the light as it swung.

"Just yourself. I'll provide the rest." His index finger slid gently beneath her jawline and along, pausing briefly to press against her lips before he dropped his hand and took a step back. She sighed.

"I wish you could touch me in public," she said. "I wish I could kiss you in the middle of Storybrooke and no one would give a crap about it."

He smiled a little sadly. "I would like that."

She stepped forwards, but he backed away from her, eyeing the door, and she sighed again. He was right, of course, but that didn't make it any easier. She shook back her hair and tried to be a little more cheerful.

"Thursday, then," she said decidedly, and he sent her a brief smile, nodding.

"Gold, do you..?" The door opening made him step back, although he was no longer touching her, and Belle jumped as Mr Milliner barged into the room, flamboyant as ever in a purple shirt, brocade waistcoat and leather pants. He arched a curious eyebrow at her, and Belle ducked her head behind her books again.

"Thank you, Mr Gold," she muttered, and scurried towards the door.

"I'll have those books for you on Thursday, Miss French," he called after her, and Belle smiled briefly over her shoulder as she left.

Jefferson watched her go, frowning slightly.

"I thought you weren't teaching her anymore," he said, and Gold shrugged.

"She wanted to borrow some textbooks. I see no reason to refuse her just because she's no longer in my class."

"Hmm." Jefferson was still watching the door, but he glanced over his shoulder at Gold. "Does she know it was you? Organising the tutor?"

"She does," sighed Gold, turning back to the whiteboard to clear off the remainder of the lesson he had just taught. "She was outraged at first, of course."

Jefferson's low whistle set his teeth on edge.

"Careful!" warned Jefferson, a little tauntingly. "She starts seeing you as her knight in shining armour, things could get awkward."

"I'm hardly a white knight, dearie," said Gold, his tone repressive, and Jefferson chuckled.

"Maybe not, but I've seen a lot of teenage infatuations in my time, and you could be looking at one right there." He gestured towards the door.

"Was there something you wanted?" asked Gold waspishly. "I have papers to grade."

"How about a drink?" suggested Jefferson, and Gold curled his lip, giving the whiteboard a final swipe and setting the wiper aside.

"I think not."

"Maybe you didn't hear me, Gold," said Jefferson, more loudly. "You're coming for a drink with me. You need it."

Gold waited, and Jefferson shrugged.

"Also, I need to talk to you about something," he admitted, and Gold smirked.

"You're buying," he said loftily, and picked up his coat.

* * *

Half an hour later they were seated in a darkened corner of the Rabbit Hole, Gold with a permanent scowl on his face, trying to keep his elbows off the sticky table that had been given a desultory flick with a cloth by the lumbering barman. Jefferson put a glass of whisky in front of him, and set down his own rum and Coke.

"Do you want to tell me what I'm doing in this rat-infested fire hazard?" asked Gold dryly, and Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"Come on! I know you've been in worse places before."

"I've _worked_ in worse places before," remarked Gold, looking around. "That was thirty years ago, and I would never have patronised them even then."

"Yeah, well, Storybrooke doesn't exactly have much in the way of nightlife," said Jefferson, taking a drink. Gold curled his lip at the barman, who was watching them while wiping a glass with a cloth and making it steadily dirtier. Gold picked up his whisky glass and eyed it suspiciously before taking a sip and wrinkling his nose.

"Agreed," he said dryly, and raised an eyebrow. "So?"

Jefferson sighed. "Look, I'll level with you. Principal Mills wanted me to look into something."

Gold smirked, setting his glass back down. "You know, if you've seen one another naked, I believe first name terms are acceptable."

Jefferson scowled at him. "Fine! _Regina_ mentioned that she'd heard rumours of what's been going on in this place at weekends. You know the stories about Nottingham, right?"

Gold frowned. "I'd heard whispers. Why doesn't she just report it to the police?"

Jefferson snorted, sitting back. "Because Nottingham's the DA's nephew, of course! You see Spencer bending over backwards to indict one of his family? Besides, she doesn't want a scandal at the school if it's all piss and wind. There's no actual evidence yet, you know. None of the girls has complained."

"I can't imagine why, the man's a menace," said Gold dismissively, and sipped at his whisky. It tasted a little better second time around, but was still rough.

"He is," conceded Jefferson. "But he's charming and good-looking, and I guess they're naive enough to fall for whatever he tells them. Young girls like that - they can have idealised views on what men can be."

Gold looked down at the table top, fingers tightening around the glass as he moved it in a slow circle, spreading the ring of moisture that had formed at its base.

"No doubt," he said quietly. "Although I fail to see my part in all this."

"You're my alibi, doofus!" said Jefferson impatiently. "I'm gonna keep an eye out for creepy weirdness after school!"

Gold sat back in his chair, mouth flattening in a sceptical line.

"We're sitting in a dive bar on a Monday evening because you think that Nottingham and his sleazy sidekick will be in here checking out the students?" he said dryly. "Who are conspicuous by their absence, I might add." He pointed at Jefferson as he picked up his glass. "And may I also say that _you_ , my friend, stick out like a sore thumb. Perhaps a newspaper with some eyeholes cut out would really make you fade into the background."

Jefferson sat back with a sigh, looking defeated.

"You're such an ass!" he grumbled. "Alright, the thing about Regina giving me a mission is true, but tonight I admit I just wanted to get you to come for a drink. You spend too much time cooped up in that house of yours, Gold."

"What I do with my time is my business." Gold took another swallow of whisky, wincing as it burned his throat.

"Fine!" grumbled Jefferson. "But I really _am_ going to be here on Friday evenings. You could always join me."

Gold frowned at him, drumming his fingers rhythmically on the glass.

"Is this some misguided attempt to get me to socialise?" he said eventually.

"If you want to give it a label, fine," sighed Jefferson. "Is spending an evening in my riveting company really so terrible?"

"I'll let you know on Saturday morning," said Gold dryly, and Jefferson winked.

"Don't think I'm not tempted, but I doubt you'd relish the idea of sleeping with Regina by proxy," he smirked, and Gold pointed at him with a long finger.

"The moment you start making inappropriate comments like that, I'm leaving," he said sternly, and Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"Spoil all my fun, why don't you?" he grumbled. "So - Friday night?"

Gold watched him steadily, then pulled a defeated face.

"Very well," he sighed.

* * *

Belle bit into her toasted bagel and peanut butter, chewing slowly as she browsed, one fingertip flicking across the pad of her laptop to move down the page. She was sitting in the diner, waiting for Ruby to finish putting on her make-up. Insomnia had claimed her once more the previous night, and at five-thirty she had given up sleep as a bad job and decided to get up. As a consequence, she was at the diner half an hour earlier than usual, and Granny had ushered her to a seat in the corner and given her breakfast, yelling upstairs for Ruby to get out of the shower. Belle had decided to put her spare time to good use, and was - researching. She set down the bagel, licking butter from her thumb as an image flashed up on screen. Belle blushed, looking around hurriedly. At that hour the diner wasn't too busy, and the other customers had their heads in the breakfast or the _Storybrooke Mirror_. She turned back to the computer, turning her head on one side to better understand what the couple on the screen was doing. Following her night at the cabin, she had been a little paranoid that her attempts at oral sex hadn't been as successful as she might have liked, despite Gold's protestations to the contrary, so she had resorted to what she knew best, which was how to find things out.

Her initial explorations online had almost scarred her for life, but once she had discounted all the porn sites (the physical attributes of the men on them scared her witless, but she was aware that they weren't hired for their ability to act) she managed to find a very informative sex education site that was sensibly written and contained step-by-step guides for various erotic acts. She hadn't been brave enough to look at too many, but she was nonetheless intrigued by what she had read so far. Some had video clips to go with them, like the oral sex one she was currently engrossed in.

"Ready when you - _holy crap what the hell are you watching!"_ Ruby's squeal made Belle jump and slam the laptop shut, blushing fiercely as she turned to face her friend. Ruby's eyes were perfectly round in her face, her mouth wide. Belle opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, aware that the diners were watching them curiously, and tried to think of a clever response.

"N - nothing!" she stammered. _Oh, great answer, Belle! You could be a_ spy _, seriously._

Ruby was continuing to stare at her, and Belle shoved her laptop in her bag, her face still red.

"Are you coming or not?" she muttered, and snatched up what was left of her bagel. Ruby followed her out of the diner, apparently over her shock enough to have started laughing uncontrollably.

"Oh my God!" she giggled, catching Belle up and turning to walk backwards, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Is this for that guy you're seeing? Trust me, honey, you put your lips around it, he'll be ready to fall down and worship you!"

"Shut up!" hissed Belle, still mortified. "I want to do it _right._ "

Ruby shook her head, a wide smile still plastered across her face. "Well, if there was an exam in sex, my guess is you'd ace it like everything else," she said soothingly. "Don't worry so much. Any guy that gets to spend time with you that way ought to think himself lucky."

Belle hid behind her armful of books, but sent Ruby a small grin. With any luck, her research would keep Gold interested in what she had to offer.

* * *

Unfortunately, the opportunities for further research did not materialise. Her father had another bad night, and Belle had to call Dr Whale early the next morning to get him to come over. He frowned as he examined Moe, and upped the dosage of his medication. Moe managed to slip into a deep sleep, and Belle was happy to let him rest, as tired as she herself was. Her eyes were grainy with lack of sleep when she answered the door to Carella at nine, and the woman looked her up and down critically.

"Are you sure you're up for this, darling?" she asked, her voice having an edge of concern to it that Belle hadn't heard before. "We can always reschedule, you know."

"If we do that we'll be rescheduling for the rest of the year," sighed Belle, rubbing her eyes. "I'm getting used to functioning on about three hours' sleep, to be honest. Let me put on some coffee."

She shuffled through to the kitchen to put on the kettle, and Carella followed, setting her bag of books down on the table.

"You were looking a lot happier last week," she said. "Bad time with the boyfriend this weekend?"

Belle dropped the spoon, scattering ground coffee everywhere as she blushed.

"What makes you think I have a boyfriend?" she asked defensively, and Carella chuckled.

"Your face," she said smugly, and Belle busied herself with cleaning up the coffee, still blushing.

"I take it things didn't go well, then?" prodded Carella slyly.

"No!" protested Belle, spinning on her toes to face her. "It was _wonderful_! I had an amazing weekend!" Clamping her mouth shut, but secretly delighted to be able to say _something_ about what she was feeling, she turned back to the coffee, pouring boiling water into the pot.

"Oh, don't worry, I can keep your secrets," said Carella, waving a careless hand. "I remember what it was like to be your age, darling. Everything seems so - real."

Belle turned slowly, coffee pot in hand.

"Real?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"

Carella sniffed, pulling out a chair to sit down. "Hormones going haywire and it seeming as though you could never, ever feel this strongly about anything. The way no one else understands how you could feel so much. The way it hurts so good, low down in your belly." She pressed a hand against her stomach, grinning.

"Of course, it's been a while for me, but I remember it well. Don't worry, darling. One day you'll look back and get exasperated with yourself, trust me."

Belle frowned, looking at her hands. "I don't think it's just hormones," she said quietly, and Carella looked surprised.

"Did I say it was?" she said lightly. "Just don't trust the little buggers, that's all. Sometimes hormones are prone to gross exaggeration. A bit like men with penis size."

Belle snorted, amused and a little scandalised, and Carella waved a hand at the books.

"Come along, I'm not getting paid to talk about your love life, more's the pity," she said regretfully. "More algebra today, I think, darling."

* * *

Gold was relaxing in his lounge with the newspaper, a glass of whisky in hand, when the knock on the door came that evening.

"My, my, this is starting to be a regular occurrence," he said mildly, holding open the door, and Carella sniffed, pushing past him.

"Ursula's at a conference," she said dolefully. "I hate being home alone."

"Really?" Gold shut the door after her. "I was rather enjoying it until you showed up."

She stuck out her tongue at him, and he chuckled and took her coat.

"Drink?"

"Ridiculous question!" she huffed, and his grin widened as he went through to the kitchen to get her a glass with ice and a slice of lemon.

"Help yourself," he offered, and she followed him through to the lounge, going to the drinks cabinet as he lowered himself into the leather armchair again.

"Can I tempt you, darling?" she said, and he drained his glass.

"Same again," he nodded, and she smirked. He raised an eyebrow, "How was your day?"

"Reasonable," she nodded. "I didn't have a hangover. Always a plus."

Gold sighed, rubbing his temple. "I trust you don't teach while under the influence," he said wearily.

"Of course not!" she said, offended. "I haven't been drunk in ages, I'll have you know! I think our engagement party was the last time I got absolutely steaming."

He grunted, and she turned away again.

"Do you know, I rather think the sweet little Miss French is in love," she said airily, poking around in his drinks cabinet. Gold's jaw tightened.

"Really?" he said lightly. "She is that age, I suppose."

"Hmm." She picked out a bottle of whisky, and held it up with a questioning expression. At his nod, she set it on the side table and reached for the gin. "I thought she had a bit of a crush on _you_ , but I daresay she's moved on. No doubt to some acne-covered teenager with roving hands who can't keep it in his pants for five minutes." She straightened up, retrieving the bottle of gin, and grinned at him.

Gold looked at the ceiling with a pained expression.

"I can't see why the tangled love lives of my former students should be of interest to me," he said in a bored voice. "I trust she's working hard? I don't want to throw good money after bad."

She snorted. "When have you ever thrown bad money anywhere?" she said dismissively. "She's doing very well. A little unfocused today, but that's to be expected, I suppose. She's bound to have good and bad days, and she's always prepared."

She poured him a measure of whisky, handing it to him before adding a generous amount of gin to her glass and looking around for the tonic. Gold took a sip, allowing the liquid to spread across his tongue, its smooth flavour making him smile contentedly.

"Of course, I remember being that age," Carella went on conversationally. "I suppose I wasn't that much older than her when I got mixed up with Mr Firkins of St Leonard's Sixth Form College." She frowned as she topped up her glass with tonic water. "Maybe a year or two, I guess."

"That's the second time you've mentioned his name in full like that," remarked Gold. "Might I enquire as to the reason? I presume you were rather closer than your use of his surname and school would suggest."

Carella shrugged. "Defence mechanism," she said briefly, and sipped at her gin. "Gives me a little distance, you know."

"What happened?" asked Gold curiously. "What happened to Mr Firkins of St Leonard's Sixth Form College?"

Carella gave him a wry smile as she sat down opposite him, crossing long legs and flicking back her hair.

"Oh, he decided he'd much rather stay married," she said dryly. "So he ended it. He ended it in such a way that I never wanted to see him again."

Gold took a drink, his brow contracting. "What do you mean?"

She sighed, rolling her glass between long, thin fingers, her red-lacquered nails clicking faintly against the crystal.

"He told me, in no uncertain terms, what I needed to hear," she said, in businesslike tones, as though the memory was painful, and easier to deal with if she retained an air of detachment.

"He reinforced every insecurity, every negative thought I had ever had about myself, and our relationship," she added. "Stripped my soul bare and hung me out to dry."

Gold winced. "Fuck," he whispered, and she smiled, although it didn't reach her eyes.

"He broke my heart," she said, her voice deceptively light. "But looking back, I can see why he did it. He was trying to protect me, to let me live my life. He was never going to leave his wife and kids for me, an infatuated teenager. He couldn't give me himself, so he gave me back my life."

Gold watched her steadily over the rim of his glass. "You almost sound grateful," he said disbelievingly, and she sniffed, gulping gin and smacking her lips.

"I grew up," she said. "First love, first loss. I got over it. And thanks to him I knew what I wanted from life. From love. I have it with Ursula. So yes, I'm grateful for that, although at the time I thought I was going to die."

"Right," he said vaguely, and she lowered her head, giving him a stern look.

"Don't misunderstand me, Rum," she said. "He may have done the right thing in the end, but at heart he was a selfish, manipulative fuckweasel who wanted to get into my pants and damn the consequences."

Gold looked down at his whisky, his ears ringing strangely, her words echoing around his head.

"It could have been so much worse, I suppose," she went on dismissively. "He could have dangled me on a string for years. I was so besotted I'd have let him." She snorted. "Bloody idiot!"

He looked up then, a tiny, twisted smile on his face. "I can't imagine anyone getting the best of you," he said, and she looked pleased, taking a swig of her drink.

"I have him to thank for that, too," she said, shrugging. "After I'd picked myself up I decided to make a serious go of my life. It was my education, then work, and my own independence."

"Funded by your rich late husband," he said slyly, and she stuck out her tongue.

"Don't be judgemental, Rum, it doesn't suit you," she sniffed. "You know as well as I that he got as much pleasure out of me as I got out of spending his money."

He chuckled. "I think the old man died happy, certainly," he admitted. "Which is more than some of us can hope for."

Carella groaned, rolling her eyes. "Spare me your self-pity," she said scathingly. "You're alone because you choose to be. You could be happy if you just let yourself, you know."

"I am happy," he countered, and she snorted. "Well, content, at least," he amended, and drained his glass, raising it and wiggling it back and forth in his hand with a raised eyebrow.

"Let me." She stood up, taking the glass, and went to fix them both another drink. She poured him another large measure, and Gold nodded appreciatively as she handed it to him and sat back down. He took a drink, savouring the flavour, the fire. Rolling the glass between his fingers, he flicked his eyes up to meet hers.

"How long did it take?" he asked. "To get over it, I mean? When we met, I certainly don't remember you being heartbroken."

Carella sighed, and rested her glass on her knee, ice cubes clinking against the sides.

"Oh, I'd gotten over it by then," she said dismissively. "Truth is, I don't recall when it was. I threw myself into study, went out with my friends, and one day I looked up and realised I hadn't cried over the bastard in weeks." She shrugged, taking another mouthful of gin. "Time heals all wounds, as they say."

"Right," he said, and leaned back in his chair. She swilled the gin around her mouth, red lips twisting before she swallowed and sat back. A strand of white-blonde hair stuck to the side of her mouth, and she puffed it away with a breath. There was silence for a moment as she eyed him shrewdly.

"You're acting very strangely," she said frankly. "I don't believe you've taken this much interest in my love life since you categorically refused to let me bang Daddy's secretary in your office."

"Yes, because of course that was a perfectly reasonable request of yours," he said sarcastically, but his eyes twinkled at her, and she smirked.

"I really do wish you'd find someone, Rum," she said. "I'm not just saying it to annoy you, you know. It would be good for you."

"You are aware that there are people in this world that feel no desire for any sort of physical relations, I'm sure," he said, taking a drink.

"Indeed," she nodded, and leaned forwards, elbows on knees. "But that's not _you_. You have a lot of love to give."

He snorted derisively, and she shrugged, pale shoulder rising and falling.

"I didn't say you're not an utter bastard who needs a boot in the bollocks every now and then, but you still need someone in your life."

"I'll take the boot, thanks," he said pleasantly, and she grinned at him.

"Always happy to oblige, darling, you know that."

"I'm beginning to think a kick in the knackers might be less painful than this conversation," he remarked, and she groaned theatrically.

"Oh, stop it! You know I'm right, or you wouldn't be pretending to take offence." She crossed her legs again, high heel bouncing up and down as she jabbed a finger at him. "You need someone to love, and to love you back, or you'll grow even more bitter and twisted."

"So, perhaps some sort of pet, then," he said lightly.

"I give up," she sighed, flopping backwards.

"Thank heaven for small mercies."

Carella sat forward suddenly. "Any more thoughts on who you're bringing to my wedding?" she demanded.

"No," said Gold dryly. "And if you even consider 'inviting someone' for me, I will never speak to you again."

She muttered under her breath, but nodded reluctantly.

"Fine, sit in the corner like the spectre at the feast," she said, in a bored voice. "But I expect you to dance with me, at least."

He grinned then. "Deal."

* * *

 **A/N: I do love writing Carella vs Gold :)**

 **Next time: Gold makes Belle dinner, which ends somewhat awkwardly.**


	11. Rapture

**A/N: Thank you so much for all your supportive comments and for engaging with the characters so much, it's just awesome!**

 **Now, if you recall, Gold had offered to cook Belle dinner. This chapter is just about the two of them and their 'date'.**

* * *

Belle looked forward to her Thursday evening with a rising sense of excitement. Admittedly she had been over to Gold's house before, but their times together had always been off-the-cuff, never planned except for the night at the cabin. That had gone so well that she was excited to see what their dinner date could produce. She chose her clothes carefully, a blue dress with a flared skirt, which she knew looked good against her pale skin, over thick tights and wedge-heeled boots. She wore her hair up, too, which she felt made her look a little older, although it kept twisting loose and tickling the sides of her face. She had already told her father that she would be going to the library after studying with Carella, and would be back before Astrid left.

She set off towards the school, but turned off before she reached it, instead making her way to the pink house on the edge of town. Gold had driven there directly from the school, of course, and his Cadillac was parked in the drive as she walked up to the door, looking around in the dark evening as she lifted a hand and knocked. She could hear music inside the house, a gentle classical tune, and a shadow approached the door, its shape oddly fragmented by the panes of stained glass.

Gold grinned to himself as he opened the door, a dish towel draped over his shoulder. His dinner guest was bouncing up and down on her toes, her cheeks flushed pink with the cold, but bringing warmth and light into the dark depths of his home, as she always did. He couldn't help smiling at her, and she slipped into the house, grinning up at him.

"Right on time," he said, and gestured towards the kitchen. "May I take your coat?"

She unbuttoned the dark blue pea-coat and pulled off her cloche hat, tendrils of her hair coming loose from the knot on top of her head. She looked beautiful, and he felt his heart leap as she turned to him, wide blue eyes looking up at him eagerly.

"What are we eating?" she asked, as his hands slid the coat down her arms, his fingertips brushing against her skin.

"Pork shoulder, slow-cooked with apples and sage," he said, and smiled as she made a low noise of pleasure.

"That sounds delicious," she said with relish. "I love warming dishes like that at this time of year. I used to do beef in red wine for Papa, but he doesn't have much of an appetite now."

She looked down uncomfortably, and he tried to distract her.

"I prepared it last night, so you can give me your opinion on the seasoning," he said. "It should be very tender, I just need to finish off the potatoes."

She smiled up at him, eyes sparkling.

"I didn't bring anything," she confessed. "That's okay, right?"

"More than okay," he assured her, and hung up her coat, leading her through to the kitchen with a hand on the small of her back. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the dress, and tried to pull his mind back from the immediate need to touch her, to feel the soft perfection of her beneath his hands. Belle lifted her nose to sniff the fragrance coming from the pan on the stove, and he smiled, walking over to the pan and flourishing a wooden spoon.

"Want a taste?" he asked, and she bounded up eagerly, opening her mouth so that he could feed her some of the pan juices. She licked her lips, eyes closed.

"Very delicious," she said with a grin, and he smirked as he turned back to the pan and laid the spoon down.

"I just need to mash the potatoes," he said, and showed her to a seat at the table, pouring her a glass of water, and wine for himself. He could feel her watching him as he drained the potatoes and mashed them with butter and seasoning and a little milk. It was pleasant to cook for someone; it had been a long time since he'd done it, and he had enjoyed putting the meal together.

"Give me a minute," she said then, and ducked out of the kitchen. He assumed she was going to the bathroom, and began dishing up the food. By the time he had filled the plates she was coming back in, her hair now down around her shoulders in gleaming waves, smiling shyly at him.

"It kept coming loose," she confessed, gesturing at her hair. "I figured it wanted to be down today, so…"

Her beauty was astounding, and he stood for a moment, open-mouthed, looking at her. Fortunately her natural state broke the spell; she tripped, grabbing for the kitchen counter, one foot shooting out and eyes wide, and he grinned, suddenly reminded of the young doe at the cabin, long-legged and awkward, not quite grown into the gracefulness it would exhibit as an adult. He reached out to take her hand before she could tumble to the floor, and she gripped him tightly, blushing slightly as she allowed him to lead her to a seat.

"Sorry," she said awkwardly. "I'm not the most coordinated person in the world. Phys Ed is a bloody nightmare even without Nottingham staring at my ass."

She clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide, and his lips thinned.

"Is he causing you any problems?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No. I mean, all the girls think he's a creep, but he's never laid a hand on us or anything."

He looked away, his mouth twisting. So, he was worse than Nottingham. Wonderful.

"I just - kind of fall over a lot," she went on, not noticing his discomfort. "Also i have a tendency to drop things. You don't have any antique china, do you?"

"I do indeed," he said levelly. "Luckily we're not using it tonight, however."

Belle giggled, her blush fading as she took a seat.

"Well, at least I didn't stab myself in the eye with mascara," she sighed. "I've done that before."

"You look beautiful," he said quietly, and she beamed at him, his words seeming to calm her a little, and he turned back to the food, picking up the plates.

It was odd, Belle thought, him cooking for her, bringing her a dish of food as though they were a proper couple. As though they lived together and she was sitting down with him after a long day's work. It felt nice, though. Right. She picked up her fork as he sat opposite, setting his glass of wine down. Her glass held water, and she wondered what his wine tasted like, whether it would change the taste of the food he had cooked. She looked down at the plate, at the chunks of pork and the glistening sauce coating it, the mound of fluffy potatoes soaking up the juice, and wondered if she should ask for a sip of his wine.

"I assure you I haven't poisoned it in your brief absence," said Gold, amused, and she blushed a little.

"I know," she said quickly, and speared a piece of pork, putting it in her mouth. It was delicious: sweet and sharp from the apples, the meat almost melting in her mouth, earthy hints of sage and thyme spreading across her tongue.

"It's very good," she said, smiling, and he winked at her, his fork scooping up potato. They ate in silence for a while, and Belle hadn't realised how hungry she'd felt. Food had become an afterthought for her, grabbed on the run between home and school, unless she had made something special to tempt her father. It was nice to sit down and have a proper meal. It was especially nice that she hadn't had to cook it.

"Where did you learn to cook?" she asked, and he shrugged, taking a sip of wine before answering.

"Self-taught. I had to look after myself, and one gets mightily sick of tins of beans after a while." He flashed a smile at her, and she grinned back.

"Mum taught me a lot," she said. "But to be honest, it was mostly Grandma. She taught me how to do roast dinners. I helped with the turkey at Christmas when I was ten." She looked down at her plate, toying with a slice of mushroom, suddenly upset. She dreaded to think what Christmas would be like this year.

"I'm sure Mrs Lucas will appreciate the help," he said carefully, and she looked up at him, trying to smile. He was watching her, the warm light glinting in his eyes and picking out gold strands in his hair, and she felt a clench in her belly, a pleasant, familiar warmth.

"Did your father speak to a lawyer?" he asked then, and she nodded, her mouth twisting.

"He was nice enough, I suppose," she said. "Efficient." She didn't add how she had hated the carefully-arranged look of fake sympathy on the man's face when they had been introduced. Granny had been there for the meeting, her hand on Belle's shoulder providing a quiet, soothing strength, and the lawyer had questioned them all, made copious notes, and snapped his briefcase shut with the papers inside, announcing that he'd be making the court application for Granny's guardianship of Belle at the earliest opportunity. He didn't expect that the hearing would be anything other than a formality, and Moe had visibly relaxed at the news, for which Belle was grateful. There had been other things to go over as well, financial matters that the lawyer had discussed in a slow, monotonous voice that had made her want to scream, talking about leverage and collateral and the open market and forced sales. She decided not to go into how helpless, how terribly young and inexperienced the whole conversation had made her feel. Nor how much she wished he'd been there.

"The bank will take the house back," she added, condensing the forty-minute conversation into seven words. "I expected that."

"I'm sorry, Belle," he said, inclining his head, and she shrugged.

"Don't be. I wouldn't want to stay there with all the memories of him being sick. I'd rather try and think of him when he was well."

He was watching her, sympathy on his face, and she could tell it was real, not the sad-eyed calmness of the lawyer. It made her want to cry, and she took another mouthful of pork to distract herself, gesturing with her fork as she swallowed.

"You know, I could have brought dessert," she said. "It seems a shame to only have one course to enjoy, when you cook so well."

He smiled then, turning back to his food. "I fear that the dessert is shop-bought. The local bakery, to be sure, but purchased nonetheless. We have chocolate tart and ice cream, if you want."

Belle felt her eyes widen, and he chuckled at her expression. She smiled back, her sadness diminishing, and they ate in silence for a little longer.

"How are your studies coming along?" he asked then, and she rolled her head from side to side as she considered her response.

"Okay," she said eventually. "Carella's an awesome teacher. And also kind of - unconventional."

He snorted. "Yes, I had noticed," he said dryly, taking a mouthful of wine.

"I like her, though," said Belle decidedly. "She's honest, and fun, and she knows a lot about life, I think."

"Indeed she does," he nodded. "She's certainly one of the most competent people I've ever met, despite her love for loud music and gin and tonics."

Belle started to clean her plate, scraping up the last of the mashed potato and sauce.

"I think I should be okay in my finals, with her help," she said. "We're going to start doing practice math SAT papers in the New Year."

Gold looked interested, leaning forwards and threading his fingers together.

"Thinking about university already?" he asked. "Good. Carella can help you prepare for the tests. I have no doubt that you have the ability to do very well."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she said awkwardly. "It's not my best subject, or anything. I'll try, though. I really want to go to uni."

"What will you study?" he asked, and she shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious.

"English, I think," she said, and raised her eyes. "Not chemistry, I'm afraid."

Her look was teasing, and he grinned.

"Well, I won't take it personally," he said, and she giggled. He shifted in his chair, taking another sip of wine.

"And the university?" he asked. Belle shrugged again, her mouth twisting.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I always wanted to go to the UK, but Dad really hasn't had the opportunity to save up much for college, and I guess I maybe ought to think about somewhere closer." She put her head to the side. "Would you ever go back? To Scotland?"

He looked at her steadily, the light winking off the cut crystal of his wineglass.

"I'm happy in Storybrooke for now," he said, which wasn't a real answer, but she didn't feel comfortable pushing him. There was silence for a moment, and she toyed with her fork, waiting for him to finish.

"What do you intend to do after university?" he asked then, and she pursed her lips, thinking.

"Not sure," she said thoughtfully. "I had thought of just continuing in academia, but I'd need to work to pay for it, so it really depends on whether I can get funding, I suppose. I'd quite like to be Doctor French, eventually." She smiled at him. "Maybe I'll end up teaching, instead. How is it?"

Gold pulled a wry face, sitting back. "Equal parts reward and extreme frustration," he said, and she giggled.

"Well, I certainly hope I'm the former," she said teasingly, and his face fell, his eyes losing their sparkle as his mouth twisted, a bleak expression flitting across his face.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quietly. His finger and thumb were turning his glass rhythmically, as though it was a nervous twitch, and she looked at her hands. She wondered why she always seemed to say the wrong thing with him, to make him want to bolt, to pull away from her.

"I - was kidding," she said nervously. "I know you don't see me as a reward, I don't - I don't know why I said that."

He met her eyes, and nodded, although guilt and sadness seemed to pour from him. They finished the meal in silence, and he took the plates to the kitchen and cut them each a piece of chocolate tart, the richness of the sweet pastry and dark chocolate filling complemented by an excellent vanilla ice cream. Belle made a noise that she was sure didn't sound human when she put the first piece in her mouth, and he laughed, the sound as smooth and rich as the chocolate melting on her tongue. Any thoughts of conversation disappeared as they each concentrated on eating their dessert, and once they were done Belle sat back in her chair with a happy sigh.

"Let me take your plate," he said, and she stood up a little too quickly, gathering the dishes.

"I'll wash," she announced, and he held up a quelling hand.

"With your history of falling over and dropping things? _I'll_ wash." His tone was dry, but there was a hint of amusement in it, and she was pleased that he had started teasing her again.

"Fine, but I'm drying," she huffed, and he chuckled, limping to the sink and running the water. He took off his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, and she smiled as his forearms were revealed, lightly-tanned skin and fine, silky hair making her want to peel the shirt from him and run her tongue over him. He washed one of the plates, stacking it on the draining board, and she waited for most of the suds to leave it before she picked it up to dry it with a towel. She kept looking at him, running her eyes up his arms to his neck, where his skin disappeared into the collar of his dark blue shirt. His stubble was starting to show, tiny specks of silver and gold around his jawline, and she let her eyes wander along to his lips, remembering how they felt against hers, how they opened up her mouth and sucked at her nipples. How they felt against the tender flesh between her legs. The tip of his tongue darted out to moisten them, and she swallowed. Seeming to feel her gaze, he glanced at her, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"What is it?" he asked gently, and she sighed happily.

"I like looking at you," she admitted, and his grin widened.

"Do you, indeed?" he said, smirking a little. "And what do you see?"

She thought for a moment, letting her eyes roam over his face, the way the light gleamed on his hair and shone on his cheekbones, the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, the way there were shadows there, evidence of restless nights and a heavy conscience.

"Honestly? I see loneliness, and guilt," she admitted. "And I wish I didn't."

The smirk fell from his face, and he looked away, but she put a hand on his arm.

"I also see kindness," she said gently, and his smile was sad. She put her head to the side.

"What do you see?" she asked a little nervously, and he turned towards her, setting down the plate he had been washing and giving her his full attention.

"Strength," he said finally, and she blushed a little, dropping her eyes as she put the towel down on the kitchen counter.

"I don't feel strong," she said, brushing a lock of hair out of her face with a brittle laugh. "I feel as though I'm about to break down at any minute."

"But you won't," he assured her. "You're the bravest person I know."

She raised her head slowly, and he was still watching her, dark eyes fixed on hers.

"You think I'm brave?" she asked uncertainly, and he smiled.

"I think you're remarkable," he said softly, and Belle bit her lip, the sincerity of his words piercing through to her soul, making tears prick her eyes. His face changed, that gentle expression that she loved softening it.

"What is it?" he asked, and she swallowed hard, shaking her head, dropping her eyes again to focus on the gleaming leather of his shoes.

"Sometimes…" she whispered. "Sometimes I don't want to be brave. Sometimes I want to cry, and punch the wall, and scream at Death that he _won't_ win, that he _can't_ have my Papa."

There was silence. Her vision was blurring, tears welling in her eyes. She felt ridiculous, petulant, a child screaming that it wasn't fair, a useless brat wailing at the gathering dark.

"That sounds brave to me," he said eventually. "That sounds positively terrifying. If Death were not such a bastard, I'd almost feel sorry for him."

Her laugh was dangerously close to a sob, and she felt a warm hand on her shoulder, his touch sliding across until his finger stroked under her chin, lifting her head.

"You're remarkable," he repeated softly. "Beautiful and brave as a lioness."

She choked back a sob, leaning into his touch. "I don't really roar too much," she said thickly, and he grinned.

"Oh, I think you do," he whispered, his thumb stroking over her cheek, fingers pushing into her hair. Belle smiled wanly, clasping his hand to her cheek, and stretched up to kiss him. He tasted sweet, of the tart they had eaten, a hint of bitter chocolate on his lips. His hand pushed further into her hair, fingers curling around the back of her head and pulling her closer as his tongue slipped into her mouth. She pressed herself against him, letting her body mould against his, feeling him start to harden against her belly. He pulled back, and her mouth followed his for a moment, before he put his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her away. Belle rocked back on her heels, biting her lip uncertainly.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and he grimaced, looking away from her.

"I didn't invite you here for that," he said quietly. "I wanted to make you dinner, to look after you, rather than you looking after everyone else. Not as a precursor to anything."

"Oh." She looked at the floor, at the toes of his shoes. "Don't you - want me?"

He sighed, and she felt him touch her face, the backs of his fingers stroking over her cheek.

"Of course I want you," he said. "How could I not?"

"Then, what's the problem?" she persisted. "I have until nine. There's plenty of time. We could - we could probably do it a couple of times before I had to go."

"Belle..." he sighed, and she felt like stamping her foot. She reached for his hand instead, holding it against her cheek as she looked up at him. His face was unreadable, his mouth set, but his lips twitched as she pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, I need you. I need _us_."

His mouth twisted, his hands cupping her face, thumbs stroking over her cheeks, her lips.

"We can't keep doing this, Belle," he said softly. "We have to stop, it's not right."

"I don't want to be right," she said stubbornly. "I want to be _yours_. You _said_ I was yours."

He dropped his eyes, letting his forehead rest against hers as he sighed deeply, his cool breath a gentle tickle against her skin.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, sweetheart," he whispered.

"Then don't." She put her hands on his waist, pulling him against her, pressing herself to his chest and feeling his breath catch. "Take me to bed," she said softly. "Take me to bed and love me."

Gold could feel every inch of her pushed up against him, the small, firm mounds of her breasts, her belly pressing against his cock, already hard in his pants. Her fingers tightened on his sides, and his breathing grew heavier as he met her eyes, large and dark, her pupils wide with desire. He remembered how she tasted, how she felt, the smoothness of her skin beneath him when he laid her down, the soft, wet heat between her legs where he wanted to bury himself. God, he was weak! He was the lowest of the low. He should have insisted on their dinner being platonic, should have pushed her away when she touched him, but she was sweet and beautiful and so, so addictive, and it was too late, far too late, for him to suddenly pretend he had any sort of conscience. To pretend that he was anything but a monster.

Her lips were parted, moist and plump, and he bent to kiss her with a groan, the taste of her heaven on his tongue. Belle's hands slid up his back to grip his shoulders, and he pushed her back against the kitchen counter, bending his knees and pushing one between her legs to part her thighs. He pushed forwards, his cock pressing against her core, where he wanted to be, grinding his hips and making her moan. She tore her mouth away, and he kissed down her neck, his head spinning with her taste and her scent.

"Upstairs," she whispered. "Take me upstairs, Rum."

He didn't want to stop kissing her, didn't want to stop tasting her. He had hoped that he might be a better man, might have pushed her away, might have listened to that quiet voice inside that whispered reproachfully that he should be protecting her. But instead he had kissed her, and he knew he was going to fuck her, so why not go upstairs? There was a bed there after all, which would be much more comfortable, and so he pulled back from her, grasping her hand and staggering to the doorway. He had left his cane behind, and getting up the stairs was difficult, but he managed it, and Belle opened the bedroom door and pulled him inside, reaching behind her to unzip the dress she was wearing. He helped her with it, pulling it from her shoulders and letting it fall at her feet before unfastening her bra and dropping it.

"On the bed," he said, and she climbed on, turning onto her back to face him, wide-eyed. He stripped off her boots, tights and underwear with quiet efficiency, throwing them over his shoulder and pushing her naked body down on the bed as he kissed her. Belle's hands undid his tie and plucked at his shirt buttons, and he straightened up a little, wrestling with the shirt until he got it over his head. She made a noise of pleasure as his chest was exposed, running her fingertips over his naked skin, and he began to kiss his way down her body, his tongue stroking over her nipples, the undersides of her breasts.

"Pants!" she hissed, and he growled in response, sucking on the pink bud of her nipple as he fumbled one-handed at his fly. She pushed at his shoulders, and he knelt up with a wry expression, tugging off his shoes and sending his pants and underwear to the floor with them. When he turned back to her, Belle was resting against the pillows, breathing hard, her eyes roaming over him. She licked her lips, eyes dropping to where he was hard, rigid, straining, and he longed to be inside her. He fell forwards onto hands and knees, crawling up to gaze down on her, marvelling at the pale beauty of her skin.

"Condom?" she asked breathlessly

"Nightstand," he said. "But not yet. I want to taste you."

Belle bit her lip in anticipation as he stroked her hair back from her face. Her heart fluttered with excitement at the dark need in his eyes as he bent to kiss her, his hair brushing her cheeks. His tongue parted her lips and she moaned into his mouth, her hands sliding up his back, her legs opening automatically and allowing him to press his length against her, where she was hot and wet and aching for him. He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her slowly, fingers carding through her hair as his lips moved against hers. Closing her eyes in pleasure, she lifted her hips a little, rubbing against him in a slow circle, and he groaned into her mouth, the muscles of his back and shoulders tightening beneath her fingers. She let her hands move up into his hair, loving the softness of it between her fingers, her tongue sliding into his mouth, lips wet and slippery with the taste of him as his stubble scratched her cheeks, her chin. He pulled his mouth away, gently pressing his lips to hers before kissing down the length of her pale throat, his body shifting, hands sliding over her shoulders and cupping her breasts.

Belle arched up into him as he sucked her nipple in between soft lips, his tongue swirling around it, and her hands clutched at his hair as she gasped his name. She felt him grin against her, one hand moving down over her belly and between her legs, and he hissed in a breath, raising his head to grin at her as his fingers dipped into her.

"Oh, my Belle!" he breathed. "You're so wet, my sweet. You're soaking. And all for me. _All_ for me."

She nodded fiercely, but he was moving again, kissing his way down over her belly, his tongue circling the hollow of her navel before slipping inside it. She could hear her own breath growing harder as he neared his goal, her chest heaving as his lips trailed across the smooth skin just above her hips. His hands had slid down between her thighs, and he slowly pulled them apart, kissing his way to her core. She sucked in a trembling breath as the tip of his tongue touched her so, so gently, barely brushing along her folds.

"Oh, God, please!" she whispered, and she knew he was grinning, the bastard. She could feel his breath, hot against her, and then he licked her with the flat of his tongue, making her rise up with a moan of pleasure. Her fingers twisted in his hair, her head rolling back as he devoured her, the tip of his tongue flickering across her clit, circling it, running along the soft petals of flesh. His fingers were moving, too, sliding across to join his tongue, pushing inside her, and Belle groaned and arched her back, the sensation building in her as he slowly worked her. A second finger joined the first, moving gently in and out of her as his tongue licked her in a steady circle, and she could hear her panting breath, almost whistling through her lungs, her heart hammering. He kept up his rhythm, the press of his nose and the scraping of his stubble adding to the friction, contrasting with the soft wetness of his tongue, the hardness of his long fingers pumping in and out of her, and she knew she was close, knew she was coming.

"Oh, yes!" she moaned, and he quickened his pace as she bucked her hips, urging him on. "Yes, Rum!"

Light burst in her head, blood rushing to her cheeks as she came with a shriek, her nails clawing his scalp in her excitement. He was continuing to lick her, groaning in pleasure as he thrust his tongue inside her to taste her bliss, and her whole body was shaking as she moaned her pleasure over and over. He kissed her wetly, lips sliding against her skin, and began working his way back up her body. Her entire being was tingling, her face flushed and heart thumping, and she felt so happy. So wonderfully, extraordinarily happy.

Gold trailed his mouth across the smooth skin of her belly, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts as he spread her sweet scent, getting it in his hair, coating himself in it until he was drowning in her. Her hands tangled in his hair, stroking down over his shoulders as he kissed her small breasts, her nipples hard and perfect. His cock felt as though it might burst, pressed hard against her thigh, and he desperately wanted to be inside her. He tried to hold back, to calm himself, and kissed up her neck, running his tongue along her jawline, gently nipping at her. Belle moaned beautifully, sliding one hand down between them, and he hissed a breath in through his teeth as her hand curled around his length and gently slid up and down, her thumb stroking over the tip to spread the moisture she found there. He pushed himself up a little so that he could look into her eyes, and found her gazing up at him a little anxiously. He smiled, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Yes, love!" he breathed. "That's good! So fucking good!"

Belle smiled, her heart bursting with happiness. _Love_. Oh yes, she liked that. She continued to move her hand, slowly, and he was canting his hips, moving with her, his cock stiff in her hand, his fluids working down beneath her thumb and fingers. He kissed her, and she opened her mouth to him eagerly, her tongue searching out the taste of him. He moaned into her mouth as she tightened her grip, releasing her lips with a gasp.

"Condom!" he breathed, and she nodded, so he pushed up, reaching to the side and scrabbling in the nightstand. She tried to catch her breath as he wrestled with the little packet, running her hands up and down his chest as he rolled it on, and he grinned wickedly at her before falling forwards on his hands, gazing down at her with a gleam in his eyes.

"Kiss me," she whispered, and he bent his head to her, his mouth soft and warm against hers, his hands stroking down her body and beneath her hips as he pushed up against her. Belle lifted her rear, wiggling a little to capture the head of his cock, and he slid inside her with a deep groan that made her stomach clench and twist with desire. She threw her head back, moaning as he filled her, as he pushed up deep inside her, his hands gripping her hips and tugging her close against him. His pelvis rubbed against her, the wetness of her fluids soaking their mingled hair, and she dug her nails into his shoulders with a tiny cry as he grazed her clit.

Gold slid his hands back up to her breasts, squeezing her, and she writhed beneath him, pushing into his hands. He pressed his forehead to hers, their sweat mixing, skin sliding against skin. Their breath was coming in pants as she nipped at his neck with her teeth, and he cupped her face, licking across her cheek until his tongue entered her mouth to tangle with hers. She moaned around it, gently sucking at him and making him want to spill himself. He pulled back a little, his chest heaving.

"God, you're beautiful!"" he growled. "You're so fucking beautiful, sweetheart. So fucking delicious!"

She moaned incoherently, her fingers tangling in his hair, her arms tugging him closer, and he kept moving, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back inside her, her thighs gripping him tightly, her flesh tugging at him. God, she felt incredible! He felt as though she had been made for him, as though he had been waiting for her, and for a few perfect moments he forgot her youth, forgot his fear and self-loathing, forgot that what they had was doomed, and simply lost himself in loving her, in feeling her body beneath his, surrounding him, losing himself in her heat and her scent and her blinding light.

Belle clung to him, trying to get even closer to him, her limbs around him, his sweat soaking her and mixing with hers as he pounded into her, his hair sticking to her damp cheeks as he ground against her, rubbing against her clit and making her see stars.

"God, that's amazing!" she moaned, and he kissed her again, his tongue thrusting in time with his cock, and she began to undulate against him, moving her hips to increase the friction, feeling the sensations building within her once more. He pulled back a little, panting heavily, his mouth close to hers, lips almost touching, and she was breathing him in, as though she could draw him into herself and keep him there. His eyes were almost black in the low light, dark and shining with desire for her, and Belle felt that she could see into his soul, deep down to the true heart of him. She could feel her climax building, wanting to burst through and send her spiralling into darkness, and she clung to him, wanting more, wanting all of him.

"Harder!" she urged. "Harder! I want you!"

Gold quickened his pace, pulling up her knees until she could wrap her legs around his waist, her fingers digging into his shoulders, allowing him to push as deep inside her as he could go. He could feel that she was close, and he ground against her, knowing that would follow her soon after. She broke with a wail, and he slammed into her, pumping his hips as he felt her clench around him. He came hard, with a long, loud groan, a rush of heat and wetness and sudden, unexpected sensations. The pleasure of his climax vanished with all the rude shock of having a bucket of cold water thrown over him, and he gazed at her, wide-eyed, as he tried to catch his breath, his heart thumping with the after-effects of his orgasm and his mounting panic. _Shit. Shitshitshitfuckingbollocksbastardshit!_

Belle was looking up at him, a sleepy, contented smile on her face, her fingers stroking his hair back from his face.

"That was - incredible," she murmured. "Amazing. It felt - different. Did it feel different to you?"

She was looking at him hopefully, her blue eyes shining with sleepy, sated pleasure, and he pressed his lips together in a thin line, reaching down between them to grasp the base of the condom. He pulled out slowly, letting his fingers travel upwards, and his heart was beating high in his throat as he felt the first curled shreds of latex, the remains of the condom slipping out of her, the slick fluids of their mingled pleasure on his fingers.

"Yes," he said grimly. "It felt different."

* * *

 **A/N: Uh-oh.**

 **Next time: Belle has a minor meltdown, and Gold has a decision to make.**


	12. Sobriety

**A/N: OMG the response to that last chapter was overwhelming! Thank you all for your lovely comments. Quite a few of you have Gold sussed out, and you all seem to like the angst while also not wanting our babies to be hurt. I appreciate it so much, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.**

 **Janiquebeingcreative prompted: "** **The condom breaks and massive angst follows (there's of course no need for anything to come of it, but the following breakdown is just too delicious to imagine)" (I couldn't put this prompt at the beginning of the last chapter for obvious reasons)**

 **This was also prompted by my own personal Squick Demon in the second chapter, but I decided to leave it for a more angsty point in the story.**

* * *

Belle's heart, already beating hard from her climax, seemed to jump up into her throat and thump loudly as she looked up at Gold, his face anguished as he held up the remains of the condom, his fingers covered in whitish, glistening fluid. Pulse throbbing in her ears, she pushed him up with urgent hands to scramble out from underneath him and run naked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Her heart was pounding, her lower lip trembling and her hands shaking as she turned on the shower. Putting a hand between her legs, she could feel the trickle of warm, slippery wetness, and she moaned a little in fear as it coated her fingers. Not waiting for the water to heat, she ducked under the shower, grabbing the hose and washing herself, scrubbing with a loofah mitt until her skin was pink.

Eventually she felt clean, the tender skin between her thighs almost squeaking, but she knew that the damage, if there was to be any, had already been done. He had come inside her, after all. She turned off the shower, stepping out on shaking legs and wrapping herself in a towel, her movements mechanical. The energy seemed to drain out of her, the adrenaline of a few minutes ago gone, leaving her more tired than she had felt in weeks, and she slid to the floor, pulling up her knees and pushing her head into her folded arms. There was a tentative knock at the bathroom door, and she ignored it, eyes stinging as she started to weep. It was too much, on top of everything else. She had heard of condoms breaking, of course she had, but it had never happened to anyone she knew. It would just _have_ to happen to her, wouldn't it?

"Belle?" Gold sounded worried, but she didn't care. "Can I come in?"

She wrapped her arms around her head, his voice muffled to a soft murmur, and her shoulders shook as tears poured down her face. Dimly, she was aware of the door opening, and then he was there, crouching awkwardly beside her in his black robe, his touch on her shoulder light, uncertain. She felt like shaking it off.

"Belle, please don't," he said gently. "Please, sweetheart."

She raised her head, suddenly furious.

"Oh, I'm _terribly_ sorry if my meltdown is a little _inconvenient_ for you!" she snapped tearfully. "May i remind you that our bloody _birth control_ failed? I think I've earned the right to bloody _panic_ , thank you!"

He sat back, one finger stroking a lock of wet hair off her face. She felt like biting it.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it like that, I just - I don't like to see you upset."

"Up _set_?" she said incredulously, his capacity for understatement making her even angrier. "No, Rum! I was up _set_ with the finale of _How I Met Your Mother_! I was up _set_ when I put my white dress in the wash with a red sock I didn't even realise I bloody _owned_! I am not _upset_ now, I'm bloody _devastated_ , you stupid bloody…"

She buried her head in her hands, bursting into tears again, wishing he'd just go away and leave her the hell alone for five minutes.

Gold felt helpless, unsure whether to touch her, wanting desperately to pull her close and comfort her. Dimly, he tried to think of something to say that wasn't trite or useless, and latched onto the practicalities of the situation.

"So, I take it you're not on the…" he began, and cut off as she jerked her head up and glared at him.

"No, genius, the sixteen year-old whose father thinks she's still a bloody _virgin_ is not on the bloody pill!" she shouted. "What do you think the condoms were for, you bloody idiot?"

He supposed he deserved that. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling useless. His ankle was also killing him, and he desperately wanted to stand up, but he didn't want to leave her sitting on the floor, weeping. Sighing to himself, he turned, sitting down beside her and putting his arms around her. She resisted at first, but he whispered soothing words and kissed her head, and eventually she fell against him, her small body wracked with sobs. He put gentle hands under her arms, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms tight around her so that her head was tucked under his chin, her tears soaking his bare chest where the robe had gaped open. He stroked her back, hating that she was so upset and that he was the cause, hating that he could hurt her so, so much.

"Why?" she sobbed, clutching at his chest, her breath catching with the force of her weeping. "W-why did it have to happen to _us_? Why this, on top of ev-everything? I can't - I can't stand it, Rum! I can't t-take it!"

Gold squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his nose into her damp hair.

"It seems that all I ever do is make you cry," he said quietly, and she only cried harder, big, choking sobs that shook her body. He rocked her gently, whispering nonsense to her, telling her that it was alright, that it would be fine. She was either too upset to tell him he was an idiot anymore, or she had stopped listening to him, but either way she simply cried until she had run out of tears and could only hiccough unhappily, her body jerking in his arms. He pressed kisses to the top of her head, and she shifted position, raising her head a little so that he could kiss her brow.

Eventually she quieted, heaving a huge, shuddering sigh, and the tension appeared to leave her in a rush as she collapsed against him. He loosened his grip a little, lifting a hand to slide a finger under her chin and tilt her head upwards. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face still wet with tears, and he kissed them away, soft lips pressing against her cheeks and eyelids, the taste of her salt on his tongue.

"I'm tired, Rum," she said despondently, her voice hoarse with tears. "I'm _so - tired_."

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in the sweet scent of her, guilt burning through him as he held her.

"I know," he whispered, rocking her against him. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry, believe me. I'm so, so sorry."

She sniffed a couple of times, scrubbing at her nose with the back of her hand, and he kissed her forehead again, his arms tightening, squeezing her close. Belle looked up at him sadly, and he smiled.

"It'll be alright, I promise," he said gently. "We could - I mean - there's always emergency contraception."

She sniffed, scrubbing her hand across her face.

"I guess," she said, her voice a little wobbly. "I suppose I knew that, I just…"

She broke off helplessly, and he nodded.

"Sometimes you need to shut down," he said calmly.

"Yeah." Her voice was thick with emotion, and he kissed her again. Her face twisted, tears leaking from her eyes again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm acting like an idiot."

"Of course you're not," he said firmly. "You take so much on yourself, Belle. There's no shame in breaking down."

She sighed, settling against his chest with a huff of warm breath, and he let his head rest against hers for a moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of her body as she breathed.

"So," she said eventually, her voice quiet, weary. "The emergency contraception. I don't have to go ask Mr Clark for it, do I?"

"I don't know if you can get it from our pharmacy," he admitted. "But I'll check, alright?"

"Okay." She wriggled a little, and he let her go so that she could stand up. She blew her nose several times and washed her face in the sink, going through to the bedroom when she had dried her face and leaving him there on the floor. His leg had gone to sleep after having her sitting on it for so long, and it was some time before he could get up, but eventually, he managed to pull himself up on the edge of the sink, limping through to the bedroom. She was mostly dressed, just zipping herself up, and she turned to him, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Can we use your computer?" she asked awkwardly, and he nodded.

In the end, they found that the Dark Star Pharmacy did not dispense emergency contraception, and Belle was secretly pleased. She didn't really want anyone in Storybrooke knowing that she had had unprotected sex, as there was always a risk, no matter how small, that word of it could get back to her father. She didn't want him worrying about her when he had more than enough to concern himself with. Gold said there was a family planning clinic in the next town along, however.

"They open early," he said, watching her anxiously. "We could go tomorrow morning. It'll mean we'll both be a little late for school, but I'm sure we can work around that."

She rubbed her eyes, feeling tired and emotional.

"You'll come with me?" she asked uncertainly. "I wasn't sure - you won't have to tell them it was you, right?"

He hesitated. "I don't think they'll ask," he admitted. "But either way I'll go with you. It says here that you'll be asked some questions about your health, but you can get the pill there and then."

"Okay." She felt a little happier, and foolish for breaking down so completely. It had been a long time since she had cried so much, and perhaps that was the problem. She had spent so long trying to be strong, trying to block out what was happening with her father, that it had all built up and the unfortunate condom breakage had opened the floodgates. She felt desperately tired.

"I think I'll go home," she said despondently, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. "It's getting late, and I guess we'll have to leave early."

"I'll pick you up at seven," he said, and she frowned.

"There's no need, I could…"

"I'll pick you up at seven," he said firmly.

* * *

He was true to his word, and Belle sneaked out of the house at five to seven to find the Cadillac waiting for her. Pleased that the street appeared to be empty, she slipped into the passenger seat and pulled on her seatbelt, glancing across at Gold. He looked tired, his eyes shadowed, and she wondered if he had gotten as little sleep as she had. Moe had not mentioned the fact that she had obviously been crying, but his new painkillers were making him sleepy and somewhat lightheaded. She was glad. She really didn't want him being upset over her crying, as he would only blame himself, and his illness was only partly the cause of her brief breakdown. Astrid, however, had given her a quick, soft look of understanding and had made her some hot cocoa before she left. Belle had drunk it sitting in bed with her feet curled under her, thinking over the events of the evening. She was a little embarrassed over breaking down so completely and not having the presence of mind to consider the morning after pill. Ruby would have knocked some sense into her, had Belle been able to speak to her about it.

Crying normally made her feel better, but this time it had not had the cathartic effect she expected. She felt drained, empty, and somehow fragile, as though her fit of weeping had drawn all emotion from her and left her a shell of a girl, a hollow figurine made of cold, brittle porcelain. She could barely sense Gold's touch when he briefly put his hand on hers and squeezed it, his fingers in the leather glove as cold and hard as she felt. They drove in silence for the most part, Belle fretting that something would prevent her from getting the contraception, and Gold with a closed, unreadable expression on his face. It was a relief to get to the next town, and park up outside the clinic, which was just opening its doors. Gold opened the car door for her and helped her out, and she met his eyes as she stood, his gaze troubled. She wasn't sure whether she wanted a hug or not, and worried her lip with her teeth, still fretting. His face softened a little.

"It'll be alright," he said gently, and she nodded.

The clinic was almost empty, the only other person in the waiting room a young, heavily pregnant woman with sad eyes, accompanied by an older woman whom Belle presumed was her mother. She went up to the counter, Gold lingering behind her, and a pretty, dark-haired woman look up. She was wearing blue scrubs, her hair pinned up on her head, and a serious expression broken only briefly by a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"How may I help you?" she asked, and Belle blushed.

"I need - um - the morning after pill," she muttered, and the woman looked her over for a moment that seemed to last an eternity, before reaching for a clipboard and attaching a piece of paper to it. She barely glanced at Gold.

"Come on through, dear," she said. "I'm Miss Faye. I'm one of the nurses here, and I just need to ask you a few brief questions first, okay?"

"Okay." Belle felt relieved, following the woman into a consulting room with a brief glance over her shoulder at Gold. He was watching her, and smiled encouragingly, which made her feel a little better.

Miss Faye got her to fill out a form with her personal details and took her blood pressure, which she pronounced to be excellent.

"Cigarettes?" she asked briskly.

"Oh, no, I don't smoke," said Belle hastily, and the woman smiled.

"Good. Keep doing that. What about alcohol?"

"I don't drink either," muttered Belle, and Miss Faye nodded, making a note.

"How old are you, Belle?" she asked then.

"Sixteen," said Belle uncomfortably. Miss Faye looked her up and down.

"Clearly a healthy weight," she smiled. "Not all emergency contraception works if you're obese, you know."

Belle wasn't sure what to say to that. She waited for the next question, her fingers twisting a loose thread from her skirt, the thin black line digging into her skin and turning the tip purple as the blood was cut off.

"When did you have unprotected sex?" asked Miss Faye then, her voice dispassionate, and Belle started.

"Um - about twelve hours ago, I guess," she said, and the woman sniffed.

"That's alright. The quicker you get to us, the more effective the medication will be."

"It wasn't unprotected," added Belle. "Not intentionally. We used a condom, but it broke."

"Ah." Miss Faye nodded, looking pleased. "So you were thinking about it, at least. That's good."

Irritated, but wanting the interview over with, Belle said nothing.

"And how long have you been sexually active?" Miss Faye went on, and Belle blushed.

"A couple of months, I suppose," she said. "Is that relevant?"

Miss Faye smiled, somewhat condescendingly, Belle thought.

"If this is a serious relationship, or something you're thinking of doing often, you may want to think of something more reliable than condoms," she explained. "Sure, they protect against STIs, but you should consider another form of protection as well. You may want to think about seeing your doctor and getting a prescription for birth control pills, or a shot."

Belle opened and closed her mouth a couple of times.

"I hadn't thought about that," she admitted, and Miss Faye smiled again, a little more warmly.

"Is it just you and your father at home?" she asked gently, and Belle nodded, wondering how she had guessed.

"Mum died a few years ago," she admitted, and the woman nodded sagely.

"Fathers sometimes find it difficult to have these conversations with their daughters," she said. "I can give you some literature to have a look at, and if you want to go ahead with any of the options, you can either speak to your doctor, or come back to us, okay?"

"Okay." Belle was relieved, warming to the woman, and Miss Faye stood up.

"I'll get your prescription," she said kindly. "Why don't you go wait outside, Belle?"

Belle pushed open the door to the waiting area, and Gold looked up from the travel magazine he was flicking through. His eyes were worried, his mouth thin, but he smiled briefly as she sat down next to him. The pregnant woman and her mother were nowhere to be seen.

"Alright?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I'm just waiting for the prescription," she said. "Then we can go. We should be able to get back before I miss too much of class."

He put down the magazine. "Belle, are you sure you want to go to school today?" he asked gently. "I could just take you home, you know."

She shook her head. "Of course not. My friends would ask questions, and besides, I'm fine."

"Very well, if you're sure." He was watching her a little anxiously, as though he was expecting her to break down again, and it made her feel nervous. She was already embarrassed at having lost her mind so utterly and completely in his presence. She had worked so hard to put a brave face on things, wanting to let the world know that she could handle her father's illness, wanting to let _him_ know that she could handle an adult relationship, and this one small setback had made her bawl her eyes out like a child, had made her break down and long for him to hold her. She was desperately worried that he would think she was weak, that she couldn't handle things. She clenched her jaw at the thought, trying to project an image stronger than she was.

Miss Faye came out then, with a small paper bag in one hand and a bundle of papers in the other, and Belle and Gold stood up as one.

"Here you are," she said briskly, handing Belle the bag. "You may feel a little nauseous when you take it, but that's normal, so don't be worried. And here are those leaflets we mentioned."

"Thank you," said Belle gratefully. "How much?"

"If you have your insurer's details, I could…"

"No need," said Gold abruptly. "I'll pay cash now."

"No problem." She took him over to the counter to ring up the sale. "If your daughter decides on one of the long-term options, there are payment plans."

Belle's mouth dropped open, a tide of red sweeping up her face. To his credit, the only reaction Gold had was a slight twitch of his cheek.

"Thank you, we'll consider what you've said," he said evenly.

Mortified, Belle waited until he had paid, and they left, walking to the car in silence. She pulled open the door, squirming into the seat and groping for the water bottle she had brought, not daring to look at him. He got in beside her, placing his hands on the wheel and breathing lightly through his nose. Belle busied herself with the prescription, taking the small packet out of the paper bag and pushing the pill out of its blister pack.

"Shouldn't you read the instructions?" he asked quietly, not looking at her, and she hesitated, the pill in the palm of her hand.

"Well, you're not saying I shouldn't take it, I suppose," she said tartly, and threw it to the back of her throat, following it with a swig of water. He kept his eyes on the grey stillness of the parking lot in front of them, and Belle wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, flicking her eyes across at him.

"Done," she said, and he nodded, starting up the car and moving off, the tyres crunching on gravel as it turned out of the parking lot and onto the street. Belle shuffled the leaflets that Miss Faye had given her, stealing a glance across at him as he drove back towards Storybrooke. She badly wanted to discuss the contraception options with him, but there was a strange atmosphere between them, heavy and somehow electric, and she remained silent. Her heart was thumping in her chest again; it was as though she could feel him pulling away from her, and she wanted to tell him not to, to stay with her, that it would be alright, that they wouldn't make the same mistake again. She couldn't find the courage to open her mouth, and he said nothing, so they spent the journey in tense, miserable silence.

Belle fretted as they got closer to the school, sneaking glances at her watch. The first class had started, and she would be late, but she was more concerned about him being missed. She could easily plead that she had been dealing with her father, and no one would question it.

"Should you be teaching now?" she asked nervously, looking across at Gold.

"Study hall," was all he said, his eyes on the road, and Belle sighed. The students probably wouldn't notice if he wasn't there to keep an eye on them.

"You should drop me here," she said, as they turned onto the road where the school was, and he pulled over. His hands were tight on the wheel, his face drawn and filled with sadness, his eyes shadowed. She hesitated, unsure what to say.

"Thank you for taking me," she said eventually. "And for keeping your cool. I sort of lost it yesterday."

"Understandable," he said quietly, still not looking at her. She wanted him to meet her eyes. She wanted him to turn to her, to kiss her and give her that little, twisted smile that she saw so rarely, but he kept his eyes fixed at a point on the road ahead of him, his Adam's apple jumping slightly in his throat as he swallowed.

"Well, okay then…" She undid her seatbelt, feeling drained and wretched. "Will I see you later?"

"I have plans tonight," he said, after a moment, and flicked his eyes across to her momentarily, his lips twitching in a brief smile. "Have a good day, Belle."

She got out of the car, feeling terrible, wanting to talk to him but not knowing where to begin. He was looking more desolated than ever, and she shut the car door without speaking, watching in frustrated agony as he drove off towards the school.

* * *

She got to class before the start of English, and slid into a seat next to a curious Ruby and a sympathetic Emma, both of whom gave her a welcoming hug that made her want to cry.

"Problems?" asked Ruby, and Belle sighed.

"No more than usual," she said, which was a blatant lie. "I'm just more tired than usual, that's all."

"Well, you can relax," announced Emma. "I actually did the reading for this class, you guys. I've totally got this."

"Good, I can sleep," yawned Belle.

"And miss my moment of triumph?" protested Emma, looking outraged. "No, Belle, you have to stay awake to cheer and applaud!"

"Noted," said Belle sleepily, and Emma rolled her eyes as Ruby chuckled.

"You want to get together after class?" she asked, nudging Belle. "Come on! We haven't had a proper girls' night in weeks!"

"I know," sighed Belle. "I've been kind of busy, what with Dad getting worse."

"Just a couple of hours," pleaded Ruby. "It would do you good to get out of the house. Just come to the diner. Burgers and milkshakes on me!"

The last thing that Belle felt like doing was socialising, but she reasoned that she would otherwise just sit alone and mope, so she agreed. It wasn't as though Gold wanted her company, after all.

* * *

The school day dragged, despite it being Friday, and Belle having her favourite lessons. She was pleased when the bell rang and she could follow Ruby and Emma out of the classroom and down the stairs to the double doors at the front of the school. She felt as though the day had been wasted; she had paid little attention in class, distracted by the events of that previous twenty-four hours and her own misery, and Mr Heller had resorted to waving a hand in front of her face in English class when she zoned out.

"We could make a start on that assignment," suggested Emma, as they made their way to Granny's. Ruby wrinkled her nose.

"God, did you take over from Belle today, or something? It's Friday! No homework on Fridays, it's the unwritten rule of our sisterhood."

Belle listened with half an ear, chewing her lip as they walked along, and started when Ruby nudged her.

"How's your dad doing?" she asked, and Belle shrugged uncomfortably.

"Not great," she admitted. "Doctor Whale changed his medication again. He's taking stronger painkillers, I - I'm worried I'm losing him."

Ruby put an arm around her, hugging her close, and Belle sighed, feeling tears sting her eyes. She couldn't cry _again_ , surely? Emma got on the other side of her, an arm around her waist, and the three of them made their way along the street, an ungainly, six-legged creature with three heads.

"We're here for you, sweetie," said Ruby gently. "Whatever crap you're going through, you can always tell us, okay?"

Her voice was sincere, and filled with meaning. Belle badly wanted to just open up and tell them about Gold, about the way he made her feel, about the panic she had felt the previous night and how good he'd been with her. She sighed, and rested her head against Emma's a little as they walked. Perhaps, one day, she'd tell them.

* * *

Gold was trying to concentrate. The school day had long since ended, and he had a pile of papers to grade. He had decided to try to mark them in his office, rather than take them home and have them sitting in a malevolent pile on his desk, making him feel guilty for enjoying the weekend. If indeed he _could_ enjoy the weekend.

He tried to remember a time when he hadn't felt guilty, or useless, or completely out of his depth when it came to the opposite sex. Any thought he had entertained about these things getting easier with age had long since disappeared. Being with Belle, _really_ being with Belle, when he could forget everything but the two of them and just lose himself in her, felt indescribably wonderful. She was light, and warmth, like the sun on his face, blinding him with her brightness. The fact remained, however, that in the cold light of day he was left feeling disgusted by his own weakness, by his seemingly inescapable, uncontrollable desire to ruin the life of this beautiful young girl.

He sighed, tapping his pen against the paper in front of him, having read the entire page three times and taken in nothing. Doggedly, he started over, but looked up in relief at a knock at the door. Jefferson poked his head around.

"It's gone five," he said pointedly. "Put the work away, Gold. It's Friday night."

"I'm aware of that," said Gold dryly, rubbing a finger up and down the side of his nose. Jefferson gave him a flat look.

"You look like crap," he said bluntly. "How long have you been staring at that piece of work?"

Gold sighed, sitting back and putting his pen down. "Too long," he admitted, and Jefferson smirked.

"Thought so. Come on, man. We're going for a drink."

"Very well," said Gold resignedly, standing up and reaching for his coat. "But if we _do_ come across Nottingham and Jones being inappropriate, I'm not in the mood to be reasonable, alright?"

"Oh, I'd pay to see you beat the crap out of them," said Jefferson cheerfully. "But I doubt it'll come to that. Come on!"

He slapped Gold's rear playfully, earning a freezing glare that made him chuckle, and Gold turned off the lights and locked his office door, preparing himself for an evening in his least favourite venue.

* * *

The Rabbit Hole was its usual dingy, murky self, and Gold curled his lip as they entered, the humid fug wrapping around them and sinking into his pores. He felt a sudden urge to bathe. There were more people in the bar on a Friday, he noticed, some of them older students from the school, who were shooting him nervous looks and trying to avoid eye contact. He ignored them. Nottingham and Jones were nowhere to be seen, and he was oddly disappointed.

"Whisky?" offered Jefferson, and Gold nodded.

"See if they have anything better than that pig swill you gave me last time," he said, and Jefferson pulled a face at him before heading to the bar.

The whisky, it turned out, was twice as expensive as the last lot Jefferson had bought, and possibly one-tenth better. It was bearable, though, so Gold swilled it around his mouth while Jefferson poked a bright pink plastic stirrer in his rum and coke, swirling the ice cubes and making them clink merrily, before taking a long swig through his straw.

"God, I needed that!" he sighed, relaxing back a little. "Hell of a week, Gold, I tell you."

"Trauma in the art department?" said Gold snidely. "Did Mrs Schumann offer to pose nude for you, or something?"

Jefferson snorted. "Right. Very funny. Don't gross me out, dude, you know I'm gonna have that image in my mind when I try to sleep later."

"No doubt thoughts of our illustrious leader will banish it," smirked Gold, and Jefferson curled his lip.

"I don't lie awake at night dreaming of the Principal, man," he said sourly, stabbing at his drink with the stirrer.

"Things not working out with Regina?" asked Gold indifferently, and Jefferson pulled a face.

"There are no 'things' to work out," he said. "It's not like we're friends. We don't have a relationship, we have...fucking."

Gold put his glass down, watching the light glinting off the amber surface of the whisky.

"I suppose that's a relationship, for some," he said quietly, and Jefferson snorted.

"Sure, it's fun, and everything," he admitted. "We're physically compatible, even though she scares the crap out of me sometimes, but to be honest, it kind of feels empty. I wonder whether I'm wasting my hot little body on someone who doesn't give the tiniest crap about me."

Gold took another drink. "Is that what you feel?"

"Sometimes," said Jefferson gloomily.

"So end it," said Gold testily, unable to see the problem. Jefferson sighed, stirring his drink.

"Storybrooke isn't exactly brimming over with eligible people," he pointed out. "Who the hell would I meet? The only people I see are teachers and students. And apart from Regina, I only find one of my colleagues blisteringly hot." He winked at Gold, who gave him a very level look.

"I think not," he said evenly, and Jefferson sighed.

"You're no fun," he grumbled.

"Good. Perhaps you'll stop hitting on me."

"Never!" proclaimed Jefferson, banging his drink on the table and splashing some of it over his hand. Gold shook his head with a grin, and there was a moment of comfortable silence while Jefferson flourished a handkerchief and cleaned up the spilt Coke. Gold hesitated, unsure whether to raise the issue on his mind, but wanting another opinion. He tapped his fingertips against the glass nervously, biting the insides of his cheeks a little.

"Have you - ever had a student being inappropriate with you?" he asked, and Jefferson chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

"This wouldn't be about the lovely little Miss French, would it?" he said knowingly. "I _told_ you to watch out for her! She finally corner you in the supply cupboard?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Gold repressively. "Could we get back to..?"

"Did your hands meet over a bunsen burner?"asked Jefferson, flopping back in his seat and raising his eyes to the ceiling while he pressed a palm to his chest.

"Third degree burns would hardly be romantic," snapped Gold. "Are you going to be serious, or do I have to take that stirrer out of your hand and see what I can pull out of your skull through your nose?"

Jefferson winced, sitting up again and shuddering. "You're a scary bastard at times, d'you know that?"

"It has been said." Gold's voice was dry. Jefferson sighed.

"What were we talking about, before you threatened me? Oh, yeah, my endless appeal to all ages and genders." He lounged back, grinning, and Gold rolled his eyes. Jefferson grinned wider.

"Yeah, there was this one kid," he said eventually. "Happened the first year I came to Storybrooke, actually. He was afraid of coming out, and having kind of a rough time with it. I spent a lot of time talking to him after class. I think he kind of looked up to me." He sighed deeply. "Then, one day, he told me he loved me. Tried to kiss me."

"How did you handle it?" asked Gold, and Jefferson pulled a face, mouth twisting.

"Shut him down, of course. In the nicest possible way. I mean, I explained that nothing could ever happen between us, but that I'd support him one hundred percent if he wanted me to come with him when he talked to his family." He lifted his glass, shrugging a little. "There were some tears, but we got there in the end. He went to university in Boston, met a really nice guy on the science program. He still sends me a Christmas card every year. Getting married in the spring." He took another drink, raising an eyebrow.

"Sounds as though you helped him a lot," said Gold carefully, and Jefferson shrugged.

"Kids that age, hormones all over the place, confused and scared...doesn't take a genius to figure out that they'll cling to the person that makes them feel safe, that they think understands them. I don't think he ever really _loved_ me, of course. He was just so relieved to find someone he could talk to about how he was feeling. The poor kid was bound to want to hold onto that."

"Yeah," said Gold quietly, and took a long drink of his whisky, draining the glass. He set it down with rather more force than he meant to. "Another?"

"Sure." Jefferson busied himself with his drink as Gold pushed back from the table and went to the bar.

"Same again?" asked the barman, and Gold nodded absently, digging in his pocket for some notes. His mind was whirling with thoughts of Belle, of the scare they had had, and his feelings for her. Of how much he desperately wanted to keep her safe, to protect her from harm. Of all the dark threats aligned against her, he was beginning to think that the most damaging, and the one he had most control over, was himself.

* * *

They stayed at the bar until ten, getting steadily, contentedly drunker. Gold eventually called a cab, dropping Jefferson off at his place, submitting to a wet kiss on his cheek with minimal protest, and leaning back against the seat with a sigh as the cab drove him back to his house. He managed to get into the house without too much difficulty, and made his way up the stairs, shedding his clothes and falling into bed naked. The darkness, oddly, seemed to revive him. He thought perhaps that it was the scent of Belle, heavy on the bedclothes, and he pulled a pillow over his face, breathing deeply, inhaling her. The smell of her made his heart thump, and he grew markedly sober as he thought about what they had been through in the past day.

Shoving the pillow back under his head, he lay back with a sigh, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling of the darkened room. Shadows crawled across the wall, forming pictures in the periphery of his vision, conjuring dark thoughts. They had dodged a bullet, he knew that. He hated himself for hurting her, hated himself for his weakness, for his inability to let her go, to free her from his malevolent influence. He could see her face in his mind, could hear her laugh, could almost feel the warmth and softness of her skin. She was everything he had ever wanted, and she was so far above him that he felt like dirt beneath her feet, like the cold earth in which she would soon lay her father. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps a fresh start, free of his influence. Free of the guilt and pain and inevitable misery that he would cause.

He knew that he had to stop being a coward. He knew that he had to be strong, for her sake. He knew that he had to give her back her life, her strength, her blinding light. He knew that he couldn't keep her, trapped in the shadows, shrouded in his darkness. But oh, God, how he wanted to! How he wanted to.

Tears had leaked from his eyes, running down into the hollows of his ears, and he scrubbed them away furiously, his hands shaking. He had made his decision.

* * *

 **A/N: This fucking hurts to write…**

 **Next time: the readers of this fic call for my head, probably :(**


	13. Falsehood

**A/N: I'd like to say that I received messages about this fic since posting the last chapter that have almost reduced me to tears, which is a huge deal for me. Also my husband has now read it, which was an interesting experience for all involved :) (honey, I love you!). Thank you all so, so much for all your support, it's just amazing.**

 **And I'm sorry.**

* * *

Saturday dawned, grey and miserable, a bank of angry clouds rolling in off the sea and cloaking the town in mist. Belle had slept poorly, playing the previous twenty-four hours over and over in her mind, wondering what she could have done differently, could have said differently. The idle comment of Miss Faye, assuming that Gold was her father, had made her want to die of embarrassment, and although he had said nothing to her about the incident, she could tell that he had been just as mortified. She had felt a little nauseous after taking the pill, picking at the burger and fries that Ruby gave her after school, and her friends had shot her anxious looks, but she had managed to persuade them that it was anxiety over her father. It wasn't entirely untrue.

Moe was no better, not that she expected him to be, of course. He had always had good days and bad days, ever since receiving his initial diagnosis, but it seemed to her that the bad days were now outnumbering the good days, and the thought scared her. He had woken twice in the night, once shouting about a dark presence in his room, and another time needing more painkillers, which had made her clench her jaw with worry. She was torn between not wanting him to suffer the hallucinations that sometimes accompanied his pain relief, and not wanting him to be in pain. A tiny, calm portion of her brain whispered to her that perhaps it was time for the morphine, and as much as she tried to ignore it, she knew that she was just delaying the inevitable.

Trying to rouse herself from her melancholy, she slithered from the warm cocoon of her blankets, rubbing her grainy eyes, and put on some coffee while she called the hospital. Dr Whale was with patients for most of the day, but the nurse that answered promised to get him to call when he could. Belle drank her coffee at the kitchen table, trying to read but taking nothing in. Her eyes were tired, and the page in front of her kept blurring, the text dancing in her vision. She threw the book aside with a sigh, reaching for her phone again to call Ruby and ask her if she wanted to go for a run.

Twenty minutes later, the two girls were heading out from the diner, towards the woods. Belle had not been running regularly, as she used to, and she was worried that she wouldn't be able to keep up with her long-legged friend, but Ruby said she wanted to take it easy anyway.

"Late night yesterday," she yawned, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, her bright red mitten a sharp contrast to her pale skin. "Granny wanted to do a stock-check after closing, and then I talked to Peter for an hour."

"How are things between you two?" asked Belle, shivering a little as the wind tried to get through her jacket.

"Good!" Ruby chirped. "He's mostly not pissing me off at all, it's pretty cool." She eyed Belle, something clearly running around inside her head, but whatever it was that she wanted to say, she kept it to herself. Belle was glad. She didn't feel equipped to answer any questions on the mystery that was her relationship.

"We'll take the gravel track into the woods and come back along the toll bridge," announced Ruby, and Belle's heart lurched a little as they turned into the road where the pink Victorian house stood.

"Oh my God, it's Gold's house!" whispered Ruby, nudging Belle with her elbow. "Do you think he's awake? Should I ring the bell and run away?"

"Please don't," said Belle dryly, as Ruby giggled. They jogged nearer to the house, and Belle felt her heart leap a little as she saw him standing in the window of the lounge, a cup cradled in his hands. He was wearing his black silk robe, open at the neck, and his eyes met hers briefly before he dropped his head. She thought how tired he looked.

"Crap, there he is!" hissed Ruby. "Oh my God, I never saw Gold out of his suit! D'you think he's naked under that?"

"Ruby!" protested Belle, flushing, but Ruby straightened up, waving.

"Hey, Mr Gold!" she shouted. Gold raised his head, seeming to see her for the first time, blinked, then turned his back, walking out of the lounge.

"Miserable bastard," muttered Ruby. "I'm guessing he'll be alone for Thanksgiving." She put her head to the side. "What about you and your dad? Any plans?"

"I haven't even thought about it," admitted Belle. "He doesn't eat much now, and he's sleeping more and more. I'm guessing we'll have a quiet couple of days."

"Well, if you need anything, all you have to do is ask," said Ruby, putting an arm around her shoulder, and Belle leant against her briefly, taking some of her warmth, some of her strength, before they pulled apart and ran on in the cold mist.

* * *

Gold was trying to steel himself.

He knew what he had to do, of course. He had made his decision in the dark of the night, his conscience vying with his own desire, his own desperate need to hold on to her. Having made up his mind, he had expected to feel a sense of relief, that calm self-assurance that came from having made the right decision. His stomach had been in knots ever since, however, and he had eventually risen at six-thirty to make himself some coffee. The brew had been strong, dark and bitter, which was normally how he preferred his coffee, but which now felt as though it was burning its way through his stomach. Sitting outside on the back porch, he let the mist roll over the exposed skin of his hands and face, caressing him with gentle, icy fingertips. The snow on the ground had mostly melted away, leaving dark, moist earth and wet leaves. It was cold enough to snow again, though. Perhaps it would, once the mist lifted.

He tried to distract himself by reading, but his mind refused to hold the words for more than a few seconds, and eventually he closed his book with a snap and went inside to make more coffee. Looking up at the kitchen clock as he waited for it to brew, he wondered whether Belle was awake, whether she had had a more restful night than he. It was too early to call her, but he needed to. He needed to see her, face to face, to tell her. He hoped he would have the strength, when it came to it.

He poured the coffee, hand shaking a little, and carried his cup through to the lounge, staring out at the dismal street, the trees shrouded in mist. What would be the best way to tell her? The kindest way? Would she even listen? He really didn't want to have to be cruel to her; he was kidding himself if he thought she wouldn't be hurt, of course, but he hoped it wouldn't be too dreadful. For a brief moment in the long, restless night, he had entertained the idea that she might even be relieved. The incident with the condom, having to get the emergency contraception; she didn't need that kind of pressure in her life right now, surely. She was young. She would get over it. Probably a lot more quickly than he would. There was her father to consider, after all; without the distraction of their encounters, she would be able to concentrate on him until the end came. Then her studies, of course. College. No doubt a handsome young thing her own age. She would be fine.

He took a slurp of coffee, grimacing as it almost burned his throat, his gums tingling.

"Stop rationalising, you useless fuck!" he whispered to himself, and stepped closer to the window as he saw two figures approaching at a steady jog. His heart thumped as he recognised Belle, slightly behind the taller girl. Ruby Lucas, of course. He had never seen Belle run outside of school. She looked beautiful, her pale cheeks pink with the cold, dark hair held out of her eyes by the black woollen beanie hat. She also looked tired, her blue eyes shadowed, and his mouth twisted as he realised that she was handling their situation no better than he. He let his head drop, gazing at the pattern on the rug. All the more reason for his decision being the right one. She didn't need this. Not alongside everything else.

"Hey, Mr Gold!" came a shout, and he started, looking up at the two girls and noticing Ruby waving, before turning his back and walking to the kitchen.

His hands were shaking again, and he set his coffee cup down on the counter, running the back of his hand across his mouth as he felt his heart thump in his chest. He needed to tell her, he knew that, but it suddenly felt as though a dark cloud had passed over him, blocking out the sun and leaving him cold and afraid. Picking up his cup again, he drained it, the coffee sour in his mouth. He really needed to get a grip. For her sake, as well as his. Drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter, he thought for a moment. Astrid would be there from two that afternoon. He would ask Belle to come over at three.

He knew what he had to do. But he didn't have to like it.

* * *

He spoke to her just after ten, his voice quiet and calm, and although she seemed surprised that he was a) calling her on the phone and b) asking her to come over to his place on a Saturday afternoon, she agreed with a cheerful tone in her voice that made him cringe.

He began preparing for her visit an hour and a half beforehand, in the same way that he would prepare for anything that made him nervous. He showered and shaved, using his favourite cologne and brushing his hair until it hung, soft and shining, framing his face. Then he turned to the dresser, and began setting out the individual pieces of his suit of armour: his gold cufflinks, sock garters, sleeve garters, all placed equidistant from one another. Even a diamond-studded tie pin, although he rarely wore the thing. He dressed carefully, his three-piece suit, silk shirt and tie, and the slim leather shoes, perfectly laced. All black, to match his mood. Finally, he slid the old moonstone ring he wore onto his third finger, and looked at himself in the mirror, nodding curtly as he straightened the tie. He would do.

He made his way downstairs, noting that she would be there in fifteen minutes or so. His stomach was churning, adrenalin singing through his blood, his heart thumping. Although it was early for him to be drinking, he poured himself a glass of wine and swallowed half of it standing at the sink, the sudden, warm kick of alcohol burning its way down. He walked around the kitchen in a slow circle, waiting for the knock at the door, sipping at his wine, growing ever more nervous. It was almost a relief when the sound came, four short, sharp taps of the brass knocker against its plate, and his head snapped around, his face falling into what he hoped was a neutral expression as he heaved a long, apprehensive sigh.

* * *

Belle had been surprised to get Gold's call, and more surprised that he had asked to see her. She had anticipated him backing off for the weekend, given that they had parted on somewhat strained terms, but she was eager to see him. They needed to clear the air, to talk through what had happened and how they could prevent it from happening again. To that end, she had read the leaflets that Miss Faye had given her, and wanted to talk to him about the options. She helped Astrid to get her father up, and left the nurse giving him a bath, trying not to notice how weak and thin he was getting. Dr Whale had telephoned, and said that he would be over that evening after seven, so she knew that she needed to get back before then.

The mist had lifted around noon, but the sky was leaden, clouds heavy with the promise of snow, and Belle had dressed for the cold weather in thick tights, a short grey woollen dress and small black cardigan beneath her dark blue coat. She had enjoyed her run with Ruby that morning, but her legs were a little stiff, unused to the exercise. Ruby had suggested that they make morning runs a more regular thing, and Belle had agreed. it was certainly a good stress-reliever. Almost as good as...no, she wouldn't think about that.

Blushing slightly, she made her way up the path to Gold's house, noticing as she did so that it was eerily silent. That was unlike him; previously there had always been music playing when she arrived there. She reached up hesitantly and knocked on the door: four sharp taps. Shadows jumped and moved behind the stained glass as he approached, and he opened the door, a rush of warm air sweeping out to greet her. Belle blinked. She was used to seeing a more relaxed side of him at home, jacket off and shirt unbuttoned, but now he was wearing his full three-piece suit, every button fastened, not a crease in his shirt, not a hair out of place. It made her feel as though she had been called to his office, a recalcitrant student, young and foolish.

"Hey," she said, a little nervously, and he smiled wanly, not quite meeting her gaze.

"Belle," he said quietly, and gestured to her to enter.

He looked tired, she thought, as she passed him. Tired and miserable, his eyes shadowed and set further back in his head than usual. She wasn't sure where he wanted her to go, and he hadn't said anything, so she made her way through to the kitchen. It smelt of coffee, rich and warm, and of the sharp, green scents emanating from pots of basil, thyme and sage that sat on the windowsill. An empty wineglass stood on the counter by the stove, and she wrinkled her brow upon seeing it. Turning to face him, she saw that he had followed her into the kitchen. but stopped some feet back from her. He was standing stiffly, hands clasped over the handle of his cane, and he met her eyes. She felt her heart thumping, her pulse throbbing beneath the skin of her throat.

"Rum, what is it?" she asked, her voice cracking a little, and he nodded.

"Belle, we can't carry on like this," he said, his voice eerily calm. "This has to end. I can't keep you here with me, it's selfish."

She felt her mouth drop open, and snapped it shut.

"What?" she asked, with a short, nervous laugh. "What are you talking about? You haven't been selfish."

He closed his eyes briefly, as though he was trying to shut her out, before looking at her again, his eyes heavy, shadowed.

"But I have," he said quietly. "I should be thinking of what's best for you, not my own desires."

"Well…" Her mind was whirling, a part of her knowing where he was going with this, but not wanting to admit to it. "What if those two things are the same?"

"They're not." It was said shortly, abruptly, and something in his tone made her bristle, the certainty in it, the dismissal of any thoughts she may have had on the subject.

"Well, I don't think it's your place to decide both our fates," she said, hearing the irritation in her voice. He looked away for a second before turning his head back to her.

"You don't have to worry about Astrid or Carella," he went on. "They'll be paid until - until they're no longer needed." His voice seemed to grow in strength, as he warmed to his role. "You have enough in your life right now, enough stress and trauma to cope with," he added. "I don't want to add to that. I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have."

"It's not just up to you!" she protested, lifting her hands and letting them fall. "There are two of us here. I know that things got - uncomfortable - yesterday, I know I let things get to me and freaked out on Thursday night, but that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you!"

He was sucking in his cheeks a little, biting them, as he looked at the tiled floor between his feet. She wanted to touch him, to reach out and put her hands on his chest and reassure him that she wanted him, that she needed him. As though he had heard her thoughts, he raised his head, pain in his eyes.

"It was a dream, Belle," he said softly. "Just a dream. At some point, one wakes up and faces reality."

She chewed her lip in distress, and he looked away again, but she took a step forward, halting as he stepped smoothly back on his good leg, keeping the distance between them. She dropped her raised hands, falling uselessly by her sides. He didn't want her touch, so she tried to reach him with her voice.

"Rum," she said gently. "Don't do this. You know you don't mean it. Please."

He let his head drop, looking at the floor again, and heaved a sigh. Part of her rejoiced at it. She had heard that sigh before, that resigned exhalation as he battled with his conscience, and eventually gave in to what he truly wanted. To what they _both_ wanted. He would do it again, she was certain.

"I wish you wouldn't torture yourself," she said softly. "I want you, truly. I know you want me too, you've said so. Why fight it?"

He looked up sharply, and she almost recoiled at the look in his eyes, at the sudden, dark flash of something she didn't recognise.

"I don't," he said curtly. "I'd like you to leave."

She put her hands on her hips. "You asked me to come here," she said stubbornly. "And I'm not leaving until we talk about this, do you hear me?"

"Why?" he asked coldly. "I see no benefit to either of us in discussing this travesty of a relationship any further."

Swallowing hard at the sudden pain she felt, Belle shook her head.

"Well, despite what you think, there are two of us in this relationship," she said, trying to remain calm. "I - I know there are some difficulties to deal with, but what - what we have is very valuable. And the _mature_ thing to do would be to talk through our problems together, so we can make it work."

He sucked in a long breath, settling himself and regarding her coolly, his lip curling.

"And why on earth would I be interested in that?" he asked sneeringly. "The only thing you had of value, dearie, I took. Now, we've had a few enjoyable evenings, to be sure, but you didn't honestly think it was anything more than that?"

Belle felt cold fingers slide beneath her ribcage, encircling her heart.

"I…" she began. "I thought…"

"You thought what?" he asked dismissively, waving a hand. "You thought this was something serious? That society would embrace us as the perfect couple? That we'd move in together, get married, perhaps? Live happily ever after?" His fingers danced in the air, walking their way through an imaginary timeline. She swallowed, the lump in her throat a painful obstruction.

"I thought you - liked me," she said thickly, and he looked surprised, his head snapping back a little.

"Well, of course I like you, Belle," he said easily. "How could I not? You're extremely…" He pursed his lips, wiggling his flattened hand back and forth as he tried to find the right word. "Willing," he finished, showing his teeth.

"Willing?" echoed Belle faintly, and he smirked, winking at her.

"Well, I could have said 'easy', but that has pejorative overtones, so…"

She felt as though he'd punched her, finding it hard to catch her breath, as though the oxygen had been sucked from the room, and she pressed a hand to her belly.

"I don't understand," she mumbled, and he shrugged, gold tooth glinting as he smiled without it touching his eyes.

"Isn't it obvious? It's over. This - well, let's call it your initiation," he said through his teeth. "No doubt it was a little more important to you than it was to me, given the circumstances. We're _done._ " He swiped the flat of his hand across in a quick slice, a terrible finality to the gesture. She shook her head.

"Done?" she repeated, feeling stupid, unable to form sentences and hating herself for it. His eyes narrowed, and he stretched out his fingers before folding his hands back around his cane, those hands that had caressed her, that had brought her so much pleasure, that had held her close in the cool of the night while he whispered her name with reverence.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" he asked coldly. "Are you having difficulty in understanding me? Then let me be quite blatant, dearie. You were a most pleasant distraction for a few weeks. A willing fuck when I needed a break from the endless tedium of my life. I must confess I rather enjoyed breaking you in."

She squeezed her eyes shut, his words like a lance in her side, a sharp pain that pierced her to the core. The darkness threatened to take her, her head spinning, so she opened her eyes again, letting them sweep up the perfect lines of his suit, the smooth silk of his tie. She looked up at his face, the face she had kissed, that had gazed down on her with disbelief and adoration. With passion. Almost, she had believed, with love.

"I don't believe you," she said automatically, and he sighed.

"My, my, your powers of self-delusion really are impressive," he drawled, and she winced, feeling the first spark of anger kindle in her gut.

"This is because of what happened, isn't it?" she demanded, brushing her hair back from her face in agitation. "The condom breaking, having to help me get that pill… I felt you pulling away from me, and I didn't want to believe it."

"Believe what?" he asked coldly, and she raised her chin.

"Believe that you'd be such a coward as to throw away what we have because of one little upset," she blurted, her voice shaking, and he shifted his feet a little, grounding his cane more thoroughly and staring her down.

"What we _have_?" he said, in a voice that was low, rasping, and somehow dreadful. "We have _nothing_ , dearie."

Belle felt as though her heart was breaking; his continued use of the dismissive, condescending 'dearie' that he used with every student he chastised, now applied to her. Not _Belle. Sweetheart. Love._

"That's not true," she whispered, and he regarded her for what felt like a terribly long, uncomfortable moment. The kitchen light was too harsh, deepening the lines around his mouth and eyes, picking out the silver in his hair as she searched his dark eyes in vain for a trace of the man she had grown so close to.

"Well, it's not as though we have anything in common, now is it?" he went on, his tone still condescending. "Our little dinner date was so awkward that you begged me to fuck you to lift the tedium. Can you imagine us sitting there night after night and trying to make conversation? What the hell would we talk about? Would you tell me about what you did in school while I complained about the lack of preparation your friends had put into their homework?"

Belle opened and closed her mouth a few times, words failing her, and he shook his head.

"All we have," he said quietly. "Is a brief history of a few indiscretions. And as momentarily pleasant as that was, it hardly forms the basis of a stable relationship."

"It was more than that to me," she whispered, blood pounding in her head, her vision blurring. "It was more than that to _you_."

He tutted sadly, shaking his head slightly from side to side, and she felt as though her heart would break.

"I'm sorry that it had to end this way," he went on, his voice light. "I had hoped that you would take the rather large hint I dropped when I tried to make you reach this decision on your own."

Belle shook her head, her fists opening and closing, her vision blurring with welling tears of hurt and anger. He continued to watch her steadily, fingers gripping the handle of his cane. A part of her brain dimly noticed that his knuckles were white.

"I don't believe you," she said again. "You're lying to me. You're lying to _yourself_."

He tutted sadly, shaking his head, and she could feel hurt and rage swelling within her as she saw him take another breath, as she saw him prepare to speak, to hurt her once more.

"I realise that you may have believed all the sweet nothings that I whispered in your ears when I was trying to get in your pants," he added. "And therefore you find it hard to believe that I'm no longer attracted to you." He smiled briefly, eyes glinting. "Well, you're right about that. You are still attractive, of course. But to put it bluntly," he added, leaning forward and fixing her with his eyes. "I'm _bored_ of you."

He hissed the words, never breaking his gaze, and Belle took a step back, looking away from him and holding up an arm to shield herself from his words, not wanting to hear any more, not recognising the man before her. Her ears were ringing, as though she had been caught in a blast. As though she were in shock.

"I'd also like you to consider this," he added pleasantly, as she tried to collect her thoughts. "I spend my days teaching young people what I know. Do you really think I want to spend my evenings doing the same?"

Belle tried to think, to tell him he was wrong, to _yell_ at him.

"I don't need you to teach me anything," she protested, instead, and shrank back at his cold laugh. She couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"Don't you, indeed?" he said, amused, his tone making her cringe. "Then why have I been taking up so much of my precious time trying to show you how to please me? You're certainly not a bad student, Miss French, but I'm tired of putting all the effort in and getting so little back. You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

Belle felt the icy fingers squeeze her heart, making her gasp for breath, as he verbalised every horrible, damaging thought she'd had about herself and their relationship, every insecurity, every doubt.

"I…" she faltered, and swallowed as she finally met his eyes. The coldness in them shocked her, repelled her. But there was anger too, rising up within her, burning her. "I thought, I mean… You said I was beautiful. That I was...that I was _yours_." She squared her jaw as he chuckled and looked up at the ceiling as though he was unable to believe her naivety.

"Well, of course I did," he said, amused. "I had to say something to get you to open your legs. Turns out the most shallow of compliments did the trick, though no doubt that says more about you than it does about me…"

Without thinking, she stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face, her palm stinging painfully, the impact making him stagger. She was seething, her chest heaving, tears threatening to rise up and spill over. His cheek was red, and he worked his jaw a little, but he never lost his smirk as he straightened up, and she felt anger and humiliation swell within her.

"You bastard!" she snarled, her voice shaking with rage.

"I never pretended to be anything else," he said levelly, his eyes flashing a little. "Now, I happen to be rather busy this evening, so I'd appreciate it if you left, like the good little girl you are."

Her jaw fell open in outrage, her pulse thumping hard in her throat.

"I suggest you find some young boy to moon over," he added. "No doubt there are a few out there who don't mind damaged goods. Or you could just pretend you're still a virgin. They won't know, the bloody idiots. Convince _yourself_ you are, if it makes it easier."

Unable to take any more, she stumbled away from him, blindly feeling her way along the hallway to the door, shaking hand grasping for the handle and wrenching it open. The night air was frigid, biting into her skin as she stepped out.

"It was an absolute pleasure, Miss French!" he called from behind her, and she slammed the door and staggered off the porch, legs moving mechanically, her eyes unseeing through the tears welling up and spilling over.

Gold managed to hold himself together until the door slammed, then lurched to the sink, fingers gripping the edge of it, his stomach muscles heaving as he threw up violently. It wasn't much: four cups of coffee and a glass of wine had been all he could stand to take since making his decision, and it left his body in an acidic stream, burning his throat. He continued to retch as the image of her face flashed through his head, the pitiful stream of vomit dark red from the wine, as though he were spitting blood. He ought to be. It already felt as though his heart had been pulled from his chest and left a gaping hole there. His cheek still smarted a little from her slap, but that was nothing compared to what he deserved. He spat several times and ran the water, scooping some of it into his mouth and swilling it around to rid himself of the sour taste before spitting, then he pushed himself up a little on the heels of his hands, his entire body trembling. He watched the swirl of water going down the sink, the light shining off it as it washed away the last traces of red, then reached out to turn off the tap with a hand that shook. He leant heavily on the sink, head bowed, wanting nothing more than to turn around, slip to the floor, push his head into his folded arms and cry.

* * *

Belle staggered blindly from the house, tears blurring her vision. She barely noticed where she was going, moving on autopilot as she made her way back into town, tears streaming down her cheeks. There were few people around at that time, and those that were walking by did nothing more than shoot her curious looks. There was a terrible weight in her chest, what felt like a lake of tears waiting to spill over and drown her. She kept her head down, trying not to break down completely until she was truly alone. Of course, she hadn't reckoned on her sharp-eyed friend noticing her stumbling past the diner.

"Belle!" Ruby's worried voice floated after her down the street, and Belle screwed up her eyes, tears leaking from them. _God, not here!_ She heard running footsteps, and felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Belle, please!" begged Ruby, and Belle turned slowly to face her. Ruby's face was anxious, her eyes wide, and Belle burst into tears at the look of concern. Ruby opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it again, putting a firm arm around her and steering her back towards the diner. Belle wept on her shoulder as she was led through the side door and up the stairs to Ruby's bedroom.

"There," said Ruby gently, pulling her towards the bed and sitting her down. "Now, what happened? Is it your dad?"

Belle cried harder, unable to speak, bent double with her sobs, and Ruby rubbed her shoulder, chewing her lip in distress.

"Honey, talk to me!" she pleaded. "Tell me how I can help!"

Belle shook her head. "Can't!" she croaked, and was pulled into a hug, sobs wracking her body. Ruby rocked her back and forth gently, making soft hushing noises, and Belle cried for a long time, Ruby cradling her, pressing kisses to the top of her head until her sobs slowed a little.

"Please tell me, sweetie," she said softly. "How can I make it better if you won't tell me?"

"Broken," wept Belle, her throat hurting, her eyes stinging. "He's broken it, Rubes! Ruined it!"

"The guy you were seeing?" Ruby rubbed her back soothingly, and it felt nice, the touch, the comfort. "What did he do?" She pulled back suddenly, dark eyes searching Belle's face anxiously. "Honey, did he do something you weren't ready for? If so, point me at him! I have ass to kick."

Belle shook her head, wiping her eyes with a shaking hand. "No, he - he didn't do that. He just - he b-broke my heart."

She began weeping anew, and Ruby hugged her again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry he was an asshole, Belle, I'm sorry!"

"He told me I was _his_!" blurted Belle. "He told me I was _his_ and I _believed_ him! He _lied_! He fucking _lied_ , Rubes, and I don't even know what I did wrong!"

"Oh God!" Ruby tightened her grip as Belle burst into fresh tears. "Baby, it's awful! I have no idea why boys are such assholes."

"He - he's afraid!" continued Belle, her breath hitching. "He - he got scared, and he's a fucking coward! I know it!"

"Commitment-phobe," nodded Ruby, and leaned back, putting her hands on Belle's shoulders. "Oh, sweetie, you're better off without him! You'll be okay - I know it doesn't feel like it now, but trust me! You'll put him behind you and move on, and it'll be fine. You'll feel great, I promise!"

"I - I feel like I've been torn in two!" sobbed Belle. "Like my heart's been ripped from my chest. Like - like I'll never be whole again! Why did he do it, Rubes? Why?"

"I don't know," said Ruby wretchedly, kissing Belle's head as she wrapped her in her arms, rocking her back and forth again. "Guys - they suck, Belle! By and large they fucking suck! The only decent guy in this town is your dad, I swear!"

Belle let out a shaky laugh, nestled in her chest.

"What about Peter?" she mumbled, and Ruby snorted.

"He farted in bed the other day," she said disdainfully, and Belle giggled, the sound broken and liquid, catching in her throat. Ruby pressed a kiss to her head.

"Your guy's an idiot," she said firmly. "Whoever he is. A blind, stupid-ass fucking idiot, if he can't see how amazing you are. I'm so, so sorry, honey, I wish I could help!"

"You do," sniffed Belle, calming a little. She let out a deep, shuddering sigh, and sniffed, mucus rattling in her nostrils. Ruby reached to the side, pulling a tissue from the box on her nightstand. Belle sat up and blew her nose, wiping the tears from her eyes and face. She covered her mouth with the tissue for a moment, breathing rhythmically, in and out, and Ruby watched her anxiously.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, and Belle pulled the tissue away, closing her fingers over the evidence of her grief. and taking a deep breath. She was not okay. She was very, very far from okay. But, for the moment, she had no tears left in her.

* * *

Gold had retreated to his study after Belle left, and had spent the next hour pacing back and forth, trying to calm himself. He was repelled by his own words, disgusted by his actions towards her, even while he told himself it was for her long-term benefit. He had poured himself another glass of wine after she had left, and drank half of it quickly, the alcohol burning his empty stomach, still fragile after throwing up so spectacularly. He knew he couldn't have any more than this one glass. Not if he were to get away, that was. It was the coward's way out, of course, but then he'd never professed to be brave, and so he had decided to spend the weekend at the cabin.

He had always known how to hurt, to wound, how to calculate exactly what to say to cause the most pain, and his carefully crafted speech to her had been no exception. He told himself that it was for her own good, but that did nothing to ease the dull ache in his chest where the shrivelled dark mass that passed for his heart squatted like a fat, loathsome toad, desperate for the light she had momentarily shone into his wretched life. He could still see her face in his mind, could still hear the shocked intake of breath as she recoiled at his words, at the lies he had told her.

His mouth twisted, his pace increasing as he tossed back the wine, red rivulets streaming from the sides of his mouth, wiped away with the furious sweep of a hand as he strode back and forth across the room. Her eyes bored into his brain, her full lips opening in astonishment as he spoke the flat, dreadful words that he had never, ever wanted to say. Whirling on his heel, almost stumbling in his agitation, he hurled the empty wineglass into the fireplace, the crystal shattering and spraying across the rug as he grasped the cold marble of the mantelpiece with one hand. He bent forwards, right hand grasping his cane, shoulders hunched and breathing heavily, his eyes heavy with unshed tears. He needed to leave.

Having taken a few deep, shaking breaths to calm himself, he pushed up from the mantelpiece and made his way slowly from the room to gather his things. The trip to the cabin would be a relief, a way to shut out the pain, and also (he cringed even to think of it) a way to avoid another encounter with Belle. While he thought that he had accomplished what he had set out to do (and what had been inevitable from the very first inappropriate touch of his hand), which was to hurt her so badly that she would never want to see him again, he was also very aware that she was both brave and impulsive. Should her devastation turn to righteous anger, she was more than likely to storm over to yell at him and call him out on his bullshit. He was by no means certain that he would be able to retain what little strength he had and keep up the pretence of indifference in the face of her anger. It was entirely possible that he would capitulate, would fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness. That could not be allowed to happen if he were to protect her from himself. Hence the trip to the cabin. He made sure to pack an excellent bottle of single malt. If he was going to get so drunk that he forgot his own name (which seemed like an excellent plan in the circumstances) it may as well be on the good stuff.

* * *

He drove out of town, letting the streetlights flash over his head as he turned the wheel of the car. Going to the cabin would remind him of her, of course, but then so would his house. Part of him wanted to turn around, to crawl back into his room and beneath the covers of his bed, thick with the wonderful scent of her. To forget what he had done. He couldn't be sure of being left alone there, however, and he had every intention of drinking himself stupid. The thought of a surprise visit from Jefferson when he was sitting on the floor of his study in his bathrobe, crying into his whisky about breaking Belle's heart, was not a pleasant one.

Snow had begun falling lightly, pattering against the window and gleaming in the headlights. It would thicken before long; he had left just in time. It would fall and blanket the town and the woods around, pale smoothness against the reddish-brown of the pines. An image came into his mind: Belle's chestnut curls against the sweeping white curve of her naked back. Other memories followed, as though trying to push her from his mind had merely welcomed her in. The sleepy look of lust in her eyes as he kissed her, the way her mouth opened and her eyes closed when she came, the sparkle in her eyes when she teased him. The look of utter devastation on her face when he'd ripped her heart from her chest and crushed it in his hand, her light fading as the dusty remnants of her hopes trickled through his fingers.

His vision blurred, tears brimming in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, letting trails of warm salt water paint his cheeks. He dashed at his eyes with the heel of a hand, furious with himself. Not here. He could not break down here. His emotions weren't listening to instructions, however, and he bit his lip in an attempt to keep it steady as the tears formed again, sending the world ahead of him into a jumbled mess of white snow and dark sky. A flash of reddish-brown interrupted the monotone landscape, there was a thump at the front of the Cadillac, and then the car rocked wildly from side to side as it hit something in the road. Gold put his foot on the brakes, the car swerving slightly before he brought it under control. It came to a stop at the side of the road, engine ticking over, wipers flicking snow from left to right as he clutched the wheel, breathing hard.

Opening the door, his heart thumping in his chest, Gold got out of the car and turned to look down the road behind them. He saw the russet mound of the body immediately, and his heart seemed to rise up, beating high in his throat as he limped towards it.

"No!" he whispered, lower lip wobbling uncontrollably, one hand lifted as though to plead with the vengeful gods of the forest. "Please, no!"

He told himself that it was not the same doe, but it easily could have been, and he would never know. She was the right age to be his visitor at the cabin, still not grown into the long legs built for leaping, built for running, built for fleeing the dark, powerful creatures that hunted her. The car had hit her, and then run over her body, tearing a long gash in her side and letting out her entrails to stretch along the road in a glistening trail that steamed in the frigid air. Gold felt his face crumple as he dropped onto his heels beside her, tears welling as he reached out with a shaking hand to stroke along her shoulder, the firm curve of her flank still warm to his touch.

"I'm sorry," he wept. "God, I'm so sorry! I didn't want to hurt you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

The doe's eyes were already glazing, her light gone from the world, and he knelt in the snow beside her, shaking with sobs, the tears pouring over his cheeks as the cold seeped through to his bones.

* * *

 **A/N: *hides***

 **Next time: Gold and Belle each try to come to terms with what's happened, with varying degrees of success.**


	14. Devastation

**A/N: Wow, the feedback from you guys was just - wow! Not that I bathe in your tears or anything, but I was doing a lot of happy dances. Thank you so, so much! Sorry for making so many of you cry. And for killing the deer. I'm afraid it was necessary. Anyway, on to the morning after.**

* * *

Nightmares plagued Belle, when she finally managed to sleep, and she was almost relieved to wake, gasping and sweating, her heart pounding, after managing to drift off for a couple of hours and being tormented by disturbing dreams of being chased by a crushing darkness, or of weeping alone, chained in a cold, stone tower. For a few brief, blissful, moments upon awakening, she had no memory of what had happened in the pink house at the edge of town, no memory of the cruel, cutting words that had been fired, bleak and emotionless, from his mouth, thrown like daggers to lodge in her heart and bleed her dry. A moment or two of consciousness, however, and all of the pain, all of the hurt and disbelief and agony within pierced her anew, and she clutched at her chest, her breath catching in her throat as she tried not to burst into fresh tears. She could _not_ break down again. Not now.

Pushing herself up wearily, she got out of bed, rubbing her swollen eyes. She had thought that she had no more tears in her when she left Ruby's, but upon lying down in the dark of the night, she had remembered every awful, terrible thing he had said to her. He had slipped long, dark fingers into her soul and dug around until he had unearthed every insecurity, had played on every fear and doubt she had ever had about their relationship, had ripped each one out of her and brought it to grinning, malevolent life before her eyes. The memory of his face had filled her head, his eyes blank and cold, the unrelieved black of his suit and shirt coiled around his thin frame, wrapping him in darkness, shutting her out. She had wept anew, until her eyes stung and her throat hurt, her pillows wet with her tears, sticky with salt as they dried. In the cold light of day, however, she just felt numb. She figured this was probably better.

Groping her way along the bedroom wall, her legs weak from lack of sleep, she made her way to the bathroom. A long shower helped her to feel a little more refreshed, but her body still felt heavy, leaden, as though it were full of tears she couldn't shed. It was Sunday, so at least she didn't have school, which was a small comfort. Having checked on her father, she made breakfast for him (all she could stand to take herself was a cup of tea) and changed the bedpan. The paper had been delivered, and she brought that up to him with his tea and toast, curling up with a book beside his bed and taking in not a word as he flicked through the pages of the newspaper. He made the odd comment, snorting at the stupidity of the politicians or bemoaning the lack of progress his favourite football team was making.

Belle sat with her feet curled under her, her book open on her lap and the mug cradled in her hands. She watched the surface of the tea rippling slightly as she moved, the light reflecting off it. The tea was growing cold, she knew, but she didn't have the energy to drink it.

"Belle?" Her father's voice made her jerk, the tea sloshing in its cup and almost spilling. He was looking at her, curiosity warring with tiredness in his face, and she tried to smile, setting her cup aside.

"I'm sorry, I was miles away," she said. "Did you say something?"

"You've been crying, love," he observed, his face falling, and she looked away.

"I'm okay," she said, getting up. "How about some coffee? I might fix myself a cup."

"Angel," he said gently, and she bit her lip as it wobbled, unable to stand the tone of his voice, the concern in it.

"Back in a minute," she mumbled, and snatched up his plate and the cups, almost tripping in her haste to get out of the room. She stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen, shoving the dishes on the counter and leaning hard on it, head down as she took deep, shuddering breaths, her eyes stinging with tears. Eventually, the urge to break down and curl into a ball on the kitchen floor passed, and she dashed away the few tears that had leaked out with the heel of her hand, taking a deep breath and busying herself with the coffee. By the time it had brewed, and she had poured two cups, she was feeling more calm, and she carried the cups upstairs to her father's room.

"I don't want you tiring yourself out today, Papa," she chided, trying to make her voice cheerful. "We can play cards after lunch, if you like, but I want you to get some rest, okay?"

He was watching her worriedly, but appeared to pick up on her mood, and the fact that she clearly didn't want to talk about whatever it was that had upset her.

"I'm done with the paper," he said. "Why don't you sit and talk for a while? Tell me how school's going."

Belle hesitated, sliding into the chair beside him and drawing up her knees as she breathed in the scent of fresh coffee.

"Okay, I guess," she said. "I'll start practice SAT papers soon. Ruby and Emma are going to come over and study next week, if that's okay."

"Oh, I'd like to see them." He looked more cheerful. "That's good, darling. You should see your friends. Not be holed up with me all the time, it's not healthy."

"I like being holed up with you!" she protested, putting a hand on his arm. "I don't stay in and play cards with you because I have to! I want to, while…"

 _While I can. While you're still with me._ She didn't say it, but his eyes lost their brief sparkle, and her unspoken words hung between them, heavy with gloom. Belle swallowed, stroking his arm, feeling his soft hair beneath her fingertips, the warmth of his skin, trying to remind herself that he was still alive, that he was still there, a comforting, familiar presence. She wanted him to hold her, to hug her to him as he so often had and whisper that everything was going to be alright, that he would live, that she wouldn't be alone. She wanted him to lie to her.

* * *

Astrid was her usual bright, cheerful self when she arrived at two, and she helped to lighten Belle's mood a little, chatting to her about her husband's latest attempts at cooking, which had been somewhat unsuccessful.

"He tries _really, really_ hard," she said pensively, pausing with an armful of bedding to be washed. "But i can't convince him to taste stuff as he's going along, you know? We've had some - weird things - to eat recently."

"Maybe you could cook together," suggested Belle. "Make it a thing, once a week, spend some time together."

Astrid giggled, starting to load the washing machine. "Well, that might be nice," she admitted. "It's going to be Christmas soon, and I don't want to be stuck with making the entire dinner, but I don't want him deciding to stuff the turkey with sardines, or something."

Belle wrinkled her nose, and Astrid shrugged.

"He's done weirder combinations," she said ominously, and shut the door to the machine.

"I guess you won't be here over Christmas," said Belle carefully. She had been unsure how to broach the subject of Astrid working there. Although Gold had said she and Carella would be paid for as long as they were needed, she couldn't trust that he would follow through on that. Certainly not after everything _else_ he had said. The thought of losing Astrid filled her with dread, but the young nurse beamed at her.

"I'm here as long as you want me," she said brightly. "The agency's been paid up to New Year. I'll take Christmas Day off, if that's okay, though."

"Sure," said Belle, secretly thinking that she may have no need of a nurse by the time Christmas came around. Doctor Whale was looking grimmer every time she saw him, and her father was getting weaker. It was only a matter of time. She chewed her lip, fingers twitching around the book she had been holding for half an hour and still hadn't opened. Astrid put her head to the side, her gaze curious.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You seem - you don't seem yourself, today."

"Oh." _Well, there's an understatement_. "I'm - I'm okay."

The lie was bitter on her tongue, and Astrid raised an eyebrow.

"You sure? Sometimes it's better to talk to a stranger, you know."

"You're not a stranger," said Belle immediately. "It's just…"

Astrid waited patiently, and Belle swallowed, hesitating before she answered. "Have - have you ever had your heart broken?"

"Ah." The word was spoken in a flat tone, and Astrid nodded understandingly, a wry smile twisting her mouth. "Oh, yes. Three times, actually. I'd almost completely given up on guys when I met Leroy." She gave Belle a sympathetic look. "First time?"

"Yeah," whispered Belle, looking down, her voice catching, lower lip wobbling. "For a lot of things."

She could feel concern rolling off Astrid in waves, and it made her want to cry all over again, so she cleared her throat, making herself look up. Astrid was watching her with a tiny, encouraging smile.

"It passes," she said gently. "Eventually. Keep busy, so you don't have to think about it. You can always cry at night, if you have to. No shame in it."

"Yeah," said Belle thickly, but nodded. She opened the book and pretended to read while Astrid finished dealing with the laundry and picked up the basket of neatly folded sheets, fresh from the drier, trotting back upstairs. Belle threw down the book, closing her eyes and taking deep, calming breaths. Eventually she raised her head with a determined expression, pushing back her chair and going to the cupboards to get out the ingredients for Moe's favourite cookies. She could cry at night.

* * *

Belle was dreading going to school on Monday, but comforted herself with the fact that at least she wasn't in Gold's classes anymore. She wouldn't be able to avoid him completely, of course, but she certainly intended to try. Grief had overwhelmed her when she was alone in her bed, and she had wept again, dry, choking sobs in the middle of the night. Her throat was raw with it, her eyes shadowed. Sleep was more elusive than ever, and the result of her insomnia, her pain, was a chilling numbness, as though she was wearing someone else's skin and couldn't fully sense the world around her. She felt insubstantial, a being made of feathered ice crystals and gossamer, in danger of breaking apart at the slightest breath of wind.

The weather had turned colder, snow still lying on the ground from the weekend, and she wrapped up warmly in thick tights and a wool dress and sweater, all in dark shades of blue and green, a scarf at her throat to push her chin into. She pulled a black cloche hat down over her hair and slipped out of the house earlier than usual to make her way slowly towards the diner, her feet moving automatically on the frozen ground, heavy boots keeping out the worst of the chill.

Ruby eyed her worriedly when she arrived at the diner, but Belle immediately started talking about their Biology homework, and Ruby picked up on the fact that she didn't want to discuss anything more personal. She grabbed their coffees and joined in the discussion on the piece of work Mrs Schumann had set them, and Belle kept the conversation light and meaningless as they approached the school. Her belly was taut with nerves as she mounted the steps, hugging her books to her chest like a shield, ears straining for the tap of his cane, the low sound of his voice, the strange hush that would fall over groups of chattering students as he passed, a hawk casting its familiar, dreadful shadow over tiny, squeaking prey.

She was distracted the whole time she was in class, and when walking the corridors she kept glancing from left to right at every turn, like a nervous deer. She didn't see him, though, and when the final bell rang on Tuesday she breathed a sigh of relief. Despite sending her anxious, sympathetic looks throughout the two days they were in school together, Ruby hadn't said a thing to her about her breakdown on Saturday, and Belle was grateful for it. Emma and Mary had no clue what had happened, of course, and Belle preferred to keep it that way. It didn't stop any of them worrying about her in more general terms, however. At lunch, all three girls had watched with tiny frowns as Belle picked at her chilli, and she was not surprised when Emma threw an arm around her shoulders as they left the main building and informed her that she was going to the diner with them.

"You're getting a burger," she announced. "No ifs, no buts, honey. We're all having one. Plus more sugar than you can handle."

"Ashley experimented with the shakes yesterday," put in Ruby. "She made this thing with ginger ice cream and crunched up honeycomb that you practically have to eat with a spoon. It's pretty awesome."

Belle sent them a wan smile.

"If I eat some, will it make you guys feel better?" she asked, and her smile widened as Ruby and Mary piled in to hug her. They made their way unsteadily out of the gates, Belle surrounded by their warmth and love. She didn't look back at the school.

* * *

Gold watched her go from his office window, fingers parting two of the blinds to peer out, rubbing a hand absently over the sharp, tugging pain in his chest as he sighed heavily, breath misting the window pane and hiding her from view. He had studiously avoided her for the past two days, although given the raging hangover he had suffered on Monday morning he was surprised that he hadn't accidentally bumped into her as he stumbled along the corridors. All he had caught was the odd glimpse of her through the cold glass of his window, and what he saw made the guilt pulse and grow within him, gnawing at his insides. She was deathly pale, her eyes dark and full of pain, her inner light diminished. He himself had spent the weekend alternating between drinking, sobbing, and throwing up spectacularly, before passing out and waking up early on Monday morning feeling as though he'd been hit by a train. He knew that he looked like shit; no amount of showering, shaving and careful dressing could disguise the fact that he'd been on the mother of all benders. Nottingham had sniffed ostentatiously when he reached past him for coffee before the first class of the day.

"You know," he said confidentially. "I hear that if you drink vodka, it doesn't smell on your breath. Friendly advice, Gold. The kids finally got to you, huh?"

He had clapped him on the shoulder with false heartiness, and Gold's jaw had clenched, knuckles turning white on his cane. Only Jefferson's noisy arrival in the teachers' lounge had prevented him from making a very serious error of judgement.

He managed to get through his classes without too much difficulty, due largely to the fact that some of his students hadn't done the homework and so he could turn some of his self-loathing outwards in the form of biting sarcasm. His guilt made him more snappish and cutting than ever, and a couple of students fled the room in tears, leaving those behind shifting in their seats and watching him nervously. He also had the nagging, ever-present thought that Belle might decide to report him, to tell Regina of his seduction of her, his perverse targeting of a young girl for his own pleasure. He could imagine the Principal's face, triumph at his downfall warring with concern for her student. A call to the police, for sure, and him being cuffed and taken away, never to work in a school again. It was no more than he deserved, of course, and he wondered if she'd do it.

The faint plume of his breath cleared from the glass, and Belle was revealed to him once more, making her way unsteadily up the road with her three friends wrapped around her, the Nolan boy trailing behind them. He wondered if they knew. She would confide in her friends, surely.

"Looking for anyone in particular?" Regina's voice made him jump, the blinds snapping into place as he stepped back. His pulse thumped in his throat as he turned to face her. Was this it, then? Had Belle told her? He raised his eyes to Regina's, trying to steady his nerves, and her lips curved upwards in a smile.

"Guilty conscience, Mr Gold?" she asked lightly, and he let his face relax into its usual calmness.

"You startled me," he said evenly. "Was there something you wanted, Ms Mills?"

She pursed her lips, shrugging.

"I hear you're having a bad day," she said, and he curled his lip.

"Really? From whom, may I ask?"

"Oh, pretty much anyone who's had the misfortune to cross your path," she said airily, walking slowly into his room and running her eyes over everything. "Anything you need to talk about?"

"With you?" He chuckled in dry amusement. "I hardly think so, thank you, dearie."

"Suit yourself." She picked up the paperweight on his desk, a ball of glass with a lacy pattern inside, blue veins as fine as silk within the heavy dome. His eyebrows drew down in annoyance, and he wished she'd leave.

"I had three students crying in my office today," she went on, and he shrugged, turning back to the window so that he wouldn't have to see her lacquered fingernails touching his things.

"Perhaps you should be nicer to them," he said, and grinned to himself as he felt her glare.

"They were crying because of _you_!" she snapped. "I don't know what your problem is, Gold, but if I have to spend my precious time dealing with parents' complaints about the way you treat their offspring…"

"Isn't that your job?" he asked coldly, turning. He tilted his head, conceding a point. "Perhaps I was a little harsh, but that Gaston kid deserved it, for one."

Regina rolled her eyes.

"Just go home and get it out of your system, whatever it is," she said bluntly. "I have important business to attend to, and I don't need my time wasted with crying students because you're having a mid-life crisis!"

He swept her a mocking bow, flourishing his arms, and she curled her lip and stalked out of the room, her high heels clacking on the floor outside. Gold turned back to the window, but Belle was nowhere to be seen, and he let his head drop with a sigh.

* * *

The next day he was no better, not least because he knew he wouldn't see her. He wasn't sure whether it was more tortuous when she was at the school, when he could bump into her at any moment, or when she was at home, where there was no chance of him seeing her at all. For the hundredth time, he told himself to get a grip. He had barely slept again, and his fourth night of little rest made him light-headed and more irritable than usual. His leg was also killing him, the product of the cold weather and too little rest, and it took him far longer to walk to class, the pain making him stop and catch his breath.

Gold's students were growing restless as the minutes ticked by. He had never been late for a lesson since he had started at the school, and a few were outspoken in their hopes that some emergency had kept him at home.

"Maybe he's sick," said David hopefully, but Mary shook her head.

"I saw him on my way over. He's here," she said, and David groaned, leaning back in his chair and throwing his pen down. He looked at Mary.

"Did you do the work?" he asked awkwardly. "I wasn't sure about question seven, what did you put?"

She gave him a wry look. "You want to copy my paper, don't you? Why didn't you do the homework?"

"I had soccer practice!" he protested, and she rolled her eyes as the door opened and Gold swept into the room, cane tapping on the floor as he made his way to the front and set his leather case on the desk. Ruby thought that he was limping harder than usual, his tread weary, and she narrowed her eyes, looking for other differences, wondering if, as David had suggested, he was ill. He was as immaculately dressed as ever, but when he faced them and took out the previous lesson's work, she could see that he looked incredibly tired and drawn, and around ten years older than he had looked the previous week. His eyes were shadowed, with heavy bags beneath them and, she thought, filled with a terrible sadness. Perhaps he'd had some bad news. She hoped not. Despite her initial dislike of him, she had grudgingly conceded that he actually wanted the class to do well. She had been working hard at Chemistry since the first few disastrous lessons, and he had favoured her with a rare, wide smile the previous week when she had answered every question he had asked her. Bastard he may be, but she couldn't deny that he was a very good teacher.

Gold began handing back the homework in silence, dropping Ruby's onto the desk in front of her. She was delighted to see a B-plus on it, but he failed to give her the tiny smile she had come to expect from him when she did well. She caught a whiff of his cologne as he reached over to give Emma her work, and the scent of it tickled something in the back of her mind. It was gone almost immediately. Without a word, he strode to the whiteboard and began copying out a question.

"No doubt you're all fully prepared and eager to impress me," he said dryly, as he wrote, the black marker squeaking. "Mr Nolan, do you have an answer to this question, or do you need to check with Miss Blanchard first?"

David wriggled uncomfortably in his seat, but Ruby came to his rescue.

"Sir?" she asked tentatively. "That's last week's question. We talked through that on Thursday."

Gold hesitated, pen poised as his brow wrinkled.

"Ah," he said, after a moment. "You are of course correct, Miss Lucas. My apologies."

He wiped off what he had written, pinching his nose with a sigh, and began rummaging in his bag again. The class waited silently, and Gold's hands stilled, long fingers curved over the leather sides, staring down at nothing.

"It appears I'm the one that's unprepared," he said quietly. "I can only apologise. Miss Lucas, may I borrow your question sheet?"

Ruby whipped it out of her folder hastily, offering it to him, and he plucked the paper from her hand between two outstretched fingers. She put her head to the side as he met her eyes, the sadness in them overwhelming.

"Are you okay, Mr Gold?" she asked carefully. "You don't look well."

His mouth twisted as he turned away from her.

"I'm fine," he said curtly, turning back to the whiteboard. "Now, if we could turn to question one?"

"But sir, you…"

"Thank you for your concern, dearie," he interrupted. "Let's get back to the lesson, shall we? If I fall over dead, you have my permission to say 'I told you so'." He finished writing out the question, and put his pen down on the desk.

"Now, where was I…?" he mused, and turned slowly to face them, gold tooth glinting as he smiled coldly. "Ah, yes. Mr Nolan."

Ruby rolled her eyes, exchanging a wry look with Emma and Mary as David slid lower in his seat. A good teacher, but still a bastard.

* * *

Gold was attempting to drown his sorrows, and was on his third large whisky. His normally immaculate lounge was strewn with the clothes he had taken off the previous night, when he couldn't be bothered to walk up the stairs to bed, and a couple of blankets that he had pulled over himself before curling up on the couch. The blankets now lay partly on the floor, his jacket draped over the arm of the couch and his tie crumpled in a heap beside him. Gold himself was seated on the rug in his suit pants and with his shirt unbuttoned to halfway down his chest. His feet were bare, his socks and shoes dumped in the centre of the rug, and he slouched back against the couch, head rolled back on the cushions as he listened to _Madama Butterfly_. Possibly it wasn't the best choice of music, given his current mood and the likelihood that he would burst into tears at any moment, but there was a comforting melancholy in listening to the woes of others, and he closed his eyes as _Un Bel Di_ rolled over him in glorious waves of tragic, doomed hope. Tears stung his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, lifting his head to take another drink and distract himself. A knock at the door made him scowl.

"Fuck off!" he muttered, and the knock came again, more urgently. Growling under his breath, he pushed himself to his feet with the use of his cane, and padded to the door to wrench it open.

Carella had been expecting Gold to be in his usual after-work attire, which was almost exactly the same as his at-work attire, apart from the removal of his tie and the opening of a button or two at his throat. She had not expected him to peer out, bleary-eyed and scowling, with bare feet and a face that looked as though he had had no rest for a week.

"Good _Lord_ ," said Carella, with feeling, looking him up and down, and he glowered at her.

"What do _you_ want?" he snarled. She raised an eyebrow, tugging a black, fur-lined coat around herself.

"I came to see you," she said imperiously. "Ursula's out of town giving a lecture on giant squid, I figured you'd be short of company, so here I am. Not a moment too soon, it seems."

"Piss off, I don't want company," growled Gold.

"I didn't say you _wanted_ it," she said dryly, shoving past him. He staggered against the wall as she passed, shoving the door closed with his elbow and scowling after her. She walked into the lounge, curling her lip at what she saw. No, this was most _definitely_ not like him.

"Good God, Rum," she said disapprovingly. "What the bloody hell happened here?"

"I don't give a fuck," he muttered, limping back to the sofa. "You want a drink?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?" she asked airily, and he pulled a face, waving an arm.

"Help yourself. Ice in the kitchen."

She busied herself getting a glass, ice and a slice of lemon, and he sat back down on the floor, leaning back against the couch and mouthing along to the music. She poured herself a large measure of gin and added tonic, ice cubes clinking against the glass, and frowned at the stereo, the soprano voice pouring out of it as the music swelled.

"Well, listening to this, I'm surprised you haven't slit your own throat," she remarked, and switched it off. He made a noise of protest, and she glared at him until he relaxed back with a sigh. Carella pursed her lips, tapping her fingernails against the side of her glass as she eyed him.

"So, I see we're informal tonight," she said lightly, going to sit next to him with a noise of complaint and stretching her long legs out in front of her on the rug. She let her head roll to the side, watching him, and for a moment he met her gaze, a dreadful, haunting sadness in his eyes. He needed to shave, stubble showing on his cheeks and chin and glinting in the light, the lines in his face more prominent. He closed his eyes as though he wished to avoid her stare, breath hissing gently through his nose.

"What's up, you miserable old bastard?" she asked gently, and his face twisted.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said quietly, blinking at her. "Nothing I didn't expect, anyway. Nothing I didn't deserve."

"Regina been on your case again?" she asked, and he smiled wryly.

"Always, but that's nothing new. No, I'm afraid this latest spectacular fuck-up is entirely my own fault." He rubbed the side of his nose with a finger, sighing deeply, and held up his glass, whisky swirling against the sides. "I'm trying to stop the thoughts in my head. Not working."

"Oh." She took a slurp of her gin, figuring that she had some catching up to do. "Do you - want to share them, perhaps?"

He looked away, his hair spreading against the leather cushions of the couch.

"No," he whispered. "No, they're very private."

"Well," she said, trying to keep the mood light. "If you need me to stay and pour you drinks and hold your hair back when you throw up, I'm happy to do that."

Gold let his head roll towards her with a slanting grin, that terrible sadness still in his eyes, but a tiny light of amusement flickering there.

"Thank you," he said dryly, and she grinned.

"It wouldn't be the first time, let's face it," she added, and he pulled a face at her before lapsing back into gloom. She took another drink as they sat in silence.

Gold was surprised to find that he was glad of her company, even if she simply sat there and drank her gin. He had had no companion for days but his own dark thoughts, his own self-loathing, and the presence of another human being was oddly comforting. He sipped at his drink, and Carella nudged him.

"I'm not only here to watch you drown in your secret misery," she said, and rummaged in her bag, fishing out an envelope in thick, cream-coloured paper. "Here. Wedding invitation." She handed it to him with a smirk, and after a moment's hesitation, he took it.

"You _are_ coming," she said, and it wasn't a question. He nodded.

"Yes, of course. Wouldn't miss it."

"And your plus-one?" She was grinning at him now, and he gave her a wry look.

"I'll ask Jefferson. You'll like him. Possibly a little too much."

She chuckled then, and drained her glass, pushing herself up to get another and passing him the whisky bottle. He poured himself a smaller measure, wanting to pace himself. His head was already spinning from the lack of food, sleep, and the alcohol he had already consumed, and while Carella was serious about looking after him while he threw up, that was a humiliation he didn't need on top of everything else. He tried to distract himself as she sat down again, a contented sigh escaping her.

"All set for the wedding?" he asked, and she pouted.

"More or less. The woman making the cake was being a bitch about the decoration, but Ursula talked her around in the end. You'd think no one had ever asked for a golden octopus on a cake before!"

He snorted with laughter, for the first time in days.

"Guest list is growing out of all proportion, of course," she went on, shaking her hair out of her eyes. "We keep making friends with people and feeling obliged to invite them, it's _extremely_ irritating!"

"It's your wedding," he remarked. "You should do what makes you happy."

"Oh, we are, I'm just being grumpy because I like it." She clinked her glass against his. "I invited the lovely Belle French, by the way. She seemed surprised."

"Oh." His heart clenched, and he took a large swallow of whisky. "How - how is she?"

Carella pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Pale," she said, after a while. "I think she's doing too much. I suggested that we take a break, but she was adamant that she was fine. I suppose her father's getting worse, so it can't be easy for her."

Guilt gnawed at him, twisting in his guts, and he buried his nose in his glass.

"She seemed to worry that I wouldn't be teaching her anymore," she went on. "I imagine she thinks that when he dies, you won't pay my fees."

Gold hesitated. He was unsure whether to send a message would hurt her more, but the uncertainty couldn't be good for her either. Why should she believe him when he said he would pay for Carella, after everything else he had said?

"Please tell Miss French that your bill is paid until she pases her exams," he said quietly. "I don't want her worrying about that."

"I'll tell her." Carella leant back, sipping her drink. "She's doing well, you know, despite everything. You picked a good one there."

"I wanted to help." It wasn't really a response to her statement. He _had_ wanted to help. He had wanted to make her life easier, to keep her away from him, and all he had done was hurt her. And himself. He turned the whisky glass slowly between his fingertips, watching the amber liquid bounce and swirl. He could feel Carella watching him.

"Are you staying?" he asked quietly, and she sniffed.

"As long as your spare room doesn't look like a bombsite, then yes," she agreed, and shoved him with an elbow, making him rock. "Also on the understanding that you make it to bed tonight. I have no intention of coming in here tomorrow morning to see your arse looking at me, thank you."

He smiled at that, flicking his eyes across to her for a moment.

"Agreed. I may need some help with the stairs, though."

"I'll give you a piggy-back," she offered, and he chuckled, before lapsing back into his dark mood. He threw back the whisky, wincing a little at the burn in his throat as he swallowed. Carella shook her head, and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Rum," she said gently. "I know you, you cantankerous old git. This isn't like you. What _is_ it?"

He tried to pull away, to hide behind his usual calm, sardonic mask, but he had drunk too much to hide his emotions, and his lip wobbled, his face crumpling.

"I fucked up," he whispered. "Oh God, I fucked up so badly! I'm an idiot, Carella. I'm a stupid bloody idiot who keeps his fucking conscience in his cock!"

Carella was silent as he ranted, stroking his hair.

"Well, I always knew your conscience had to be pretty small," she said brightly, and he let out a strangled noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. She kissed the top of his head and let him settle on her shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, and he sighed, shaking his head.

"Not now. Probably not ever. You'd hate me."

"Too late, you big knobhead," she said affectionately. "Shall we just get drunk, then?"

"Sounds good," he agreed, and held up his glass. "I'll have another."

"Don't you have school tomorrow?" she asked. "What about the students?"

"Ah, fuck the students!" he growled, waving a hand. Carella snorted.

"Don't do that, you'll get arrested," she said, and he groaned, running a hand over his face as she giggled.

"Just pour the fucking whisky, will you? I'm still conscious."

* * *

Moe had had a bad day.

He had thrown up, his vomit thick and black, and Belle had held him close, wrapped in blankets, while Astrid changed the bed for the second time that day. Pain had wracked him, the medication he was taking no longer holding it back, and Dr Whale had been called, Belle's voice somewhat wobbly as she spoke to him. Having arrived and examined her father, Dr Whale explained gently to Belle that he would be administering morphine, and to that end he immediately gave Moe a capsule of liquid. It didn't take long for the effects to take hold, and Moe relaxed back in his pillows with a sigh, tears leaking from his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered drowsily. Belle sat by him, clutching his hand as he drifted off. Dr Whale was explaining the dosage to Astrid, and Belle listened as he mentioned the possible need for injections, when the capsules ceased to have the same effect. Astrid was nodding, her face calm.

"I'll see myself out, Belle," announced Dr Whale. "He'll be sleepy, but he won't be in pain. You may find that he starts hallucinating again, though. I'll come back tomorrow."

"Thank you," said Belle, trying to smile at him, and he nodded briskly, snapping his bag shut and sweeping out. Astrid shot her a brief, worried look, and busied herself cleaning up. Belle turned back to her father, leaning in to rest her cheek against his wasted chest and breathing in the cloying smell that constantly surrounded him, but was not his.

Moe woke just before Astrid left, smiling sleepily and saying that he felt rested. Astrid gave him another capsule, and Belle made him tea and took it up to him, squeezing Astrid's hand as she left. Moe did look brighter, having no pain and his first good, long sleep in days. She sat down beside him, planting a kiss on his cheek and making him chuckle.

"Carella invited me to her wedding next month," she said, trying to keep her voice cheerful, and he smiled.

"Good. Take some money from the bank and get yourself a nice dress."

"Papa, i don't have to go!" she protested. "I can stay in with you. We'll play cards, and you can cheat me the way you always do."

He looked at her steadily, and she dropped her gaze, concentrating on a spot on the blankets, so that she wouldn't see his expression, the sad inevitability in his eyes.

"I want you to go," he said calmly. "Do you have a date?"

"No." She shook her head with a hollow laugh, fidgeting awkwardly. "I mean, the card says 'plus one', but…"

"So find one," he suggested. "There must be someone you like at school."

She chewed her lip.

"Not really," she said uncomfortably. "I don't - I don't think I'll go, anyway. It's kind of her, but…"

"Belle," he said quietly, firmly, and her mouth flattened as she raised her eyes to the ceiling, trying not to look at him, tears welling. He folded his large hand around her small fist, squeezing her.

"I'm dying, my girl," he said gently. "It won't be long now."

She shook her head, her mouth twisting, trying not to cry, and he reached up to stroke her cheek.

"You're so good to me, Belle," he whispered. "You're so brave, my darling. I know you'll be okay when I'm gone. I know you'll do the most amazing things with your life, and I wish I could be there to see them. You're a beautiful girl, inside and out."

She leant into his touch, reaching up to press his hand to her face as her lip trembled.

"I don't want you to go," she whimpered. "I don't want to be alone, Papa."

"You'll never be alone," he assured her. "You have your friends, and Granny, and everyone in this town who loves you. There'll be others, darling. The ones you meet in the future. And the _one_. The one you're meant to be with."

She shook her head, pulling a face.

"I don't want that," she said dully. "It hurts too much to lose the ones I love, I don't want that again!"

"But you will," he said firmly. "Love is wonderful, Belle, that's why the loss of it causes you pain."

She looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes, and he sighed.

"I'm lucky enough to have had two true loves in my life," he said. "First there was your mother, and then you came along, and I loved you both so much! I know how much you miss her, sweetheart, and I know how much you'll miss me, but it's time for me to join her."

Her face crumpled, tears welling in her eyes as he brushed the back of his finger against the tip of her nose.

"Who loves you, poppet?" he asked gently, and she bit back a sob as he repeated the endearment he had used so often when she was small.

"My Papa," she whimpered, her voice high and whisper-light, sounding like the little girl she had been, the toddler clinging to her father, comforted by his warm embrace and his scent of tobacco and shaving cream. She felt the tears spill over, running down her face in thin streams as she reached out to touch his cheek, to try to hold onto him and keep him with her. He stroked her hair tenderly.

"So listen to what your Papa tells you," he said gently. "Don't let yourself shut down, Belle. Live. Love. Take that big heart of yours and find something to fill it when I'm gone."

She was crying properly now, and he put his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head as her tears flowed. She let the dam of her grief burst open, weeping for him, for the loss of her family, for the death of her childhood and her fear of the dark, cold world that lay ahead.

* * *

 **A/N: It - will get less angsty. Eventually**

 **Next time: Belle and Gold meet for the first time since he told her that big bunch of lies**


	15. Grief

**A/N: I have a bunch of messages in my inbox and on tumblr for the last two chapters, which are entirely written in capitals with a lot of exclamations XD**

 **Loving the response from you all. Last chapter was Belle and Gold both not dealing with their break-up, and Belle and Moe saying a proper goodbye. Here's what happened next.**

* * *

In the end it took two weeks. Two long, terrible weeks. Two weeks of watching him shrink and suffer, the morphine easing his pain, but occasionally causing dark visions that made him thrash around in terror. Astrid was there for her during the day, of course, and Granny came and sat with her at night for the last week, Belle dozing in her chair to the repetitive click of her knitting needles as Moe slipped into a morphine-laced slumber. Ruby, Emma and Mary had visited once or twice, but while she appreciated their company, their obvious sympathy and the look of pity in their eyes was unbearable. It made her want to cry, and she couldn't afford to. She had too much to do, too much to keep her busy, to break down and sob on their shoulders.

She was no longer in school, having agreed with Principal Mills that she could take the time off, but she was getting her friends to bring over homework for her, and she fitted some in where she could. Things actually became easier in the last week, as Moe spent most of his time asleep, an awful death rattle in his chest that bored into her head and invaded her thoughts, stealing her rest. He managed to wake briefly on the final day, and she clasped his hand and told him that she loved him, fresh, fat tears falling on his chest. He tried to smile at her, and whispered something she couldn't make out before falling asleep again, his chest rising and falling with that dreadful rattle that she knew would haunt her dreams when he was gone.

When he finally slipped away, she only felt a numb sort of relief, and terrible guilt over feeling relieved. Astrid hugged her tightly, muttering soothing words, but she didn't cry. She spoke calmly to Dr Whale when he arrived, and watched as his body was taken away. She then had to call the funeral home and the local priest to make arrangements for the funeral. There wasn't another florist in Storybrooke since her father's shop had closed, so she called the next town over and arranged for a wreath, and flowers for the church. There were other tasks to complete, of course, and Granny helped, patting her on the shoulder and saying that she would take care of the wake and go with her to pick out a coffin. Ruby came too, clutching Belle's hand comfortingly as they stood in the funeral home and looked at the different caskets.

"What do you think he'd like?" asked Ruby, peering into a polished pine box, lined with white satin. "This is a nice one."

"I don't know." Belle rubbed her arm uncomfortably, looking around. "He didn't say what he wanted, I guess he'd be more interested in the flowers. I picked out his favourites."

Ruby opened up an oak casket lined with red, which would probably take eight people to lift, and cost more than the entire funeral Belle had already planned out. She hadn't thought it would be so expensive; the price of even the most simple service had made her catch her breath. Moe had managed things as best he could, when he knew he wasn't going to get better, and with the money he had put aside for the purpose, she could afford to bury him in the same grave where her mother lay, and have his inscription added to the headstone. Granny offering to do the wake free of charge had certainly helped.

Belle had moved into the room next to Ruby's on the day that Moe died, his body taken to the morgue and the house in which she had spent so many happy years now cold, lonely and somehow threatening. She had packed a bag, with Ruby's help, and now found herself surrounded by people, and heat, and noise, when she was used to the cool, dim, quiet of her father's room. She closed her eyes for a moment, running her fingers over the smooth wood of the coffin lid, remembering the early days of his illness, when he had simply been more tired than usual, and she had teased him for dozing after meals. He had rolled his eyes and told her he was getting his rest in before all the sleepless nights he'd have when she started dating.

"Belle?"

She blinked, a vision of the past disappearing, Ruby's concerned face swimming into view above the oak casket.

"That's too expensive," she said, for something to say, and Ruby shut the lid, dark eyes watching her anxiously. She felt as though they were all waiting for her to break down, or cry, or scream, and it was starting to irritate her, and she then felt bad for being irritated, when everyone had been so kind. Sighing to herself, and wishing her emotions would level out, she patted the pine casket.

"I think he'd like this one," she said, and Ruby nodded, holding out her hand for Belle to take again as they went to make the arrangements.

* * *

Gold took a long time to swim up out of the sinkhole of self-loathing in which he had immersed himself, and he spent as little time as possible outside his house, returning immediately after class each day and shutting the door on the world. Carella had stayed with him as promised on the night she came over, the two of them drinking their way through his collection of spirits, seated on the floor and singing along to sad songs until their throats were sore. He had broken down in the end, crying on her shoulder, and she had hugged him and called him a bloody idiot, eventually helping him up the stairs and into bed. The next morning, her greeting was more the surly grunt of the dangerously hungover, and he had spent ten frantic minutes trying to remember whether he had confided in her about Belle, but if he had, she certainly didn't remember it. She had glowered at him as he staggered into the kitchen in his pyjamas and bathrobe, seated at the table with a cup of coffee in her hands and a pained look on her face.

"I'm never coming over when you're depressed again," she had said ominously. "What the hell did we drink?"

"Everything," he had sighed, slipping into a seat next to her and reaching for the coffee.

That morning he had felt appalling, his head thumping and stomach churning, and the thought of going to school had filled him with dread. He had gotten through the remainder of the week by having as few interactions as possible and mainlining caffeine, and had given himself a stern talking-to that weekend. No matter how badly he had fucked up, he wouldn't make anything better by destroying both his career and his liver. Having spent the best part of a week making himself sick with alcohol, guilt and grief, he had decided to pass on the whisky. At least until Christmas. As a result, he was now no longer drinking himself into a stupor, which he considered something of a personal achievement. Colleagues had been starting to comment on his appearance: some, like Jefferson, had asked him worriedly if he was okay, whereas others, such as Nottingham, had suggested that he was only one emotional breakdown short of retirement. It didn't improve his mood, to be sure, but it made him angry, rather than depressed, which was the kick up the arse he needed. Of course, the lack of alcohol had the unpleasant side-effect of him being clear-headed enough to think about what he had done, and to feel terrible about it. He told himself that he had no right to feel that way. Belle was out of his life, and he needed to accept it. He had engineered things so that she would be free of him, and to cry over his success seemed completely illogical. Since their awful, heart-wrenching break-up he had managed to avoid her, and he was glad of it, unsure how he would react if he were confronted with her.

* * *

Early December had brought fresh snow, and more pain in his leg. He built up the fire in his lounge at night, the crackling flames a pleasant distraction alongside the soothing warmth. A knock at the door on Tuesday evening pulled him away from the book he was reading, to his eternal gratitude, and he answered the door to a shivering Jefferson, who was blowing on his cupped hands and stamping snow from his shoes.

"Wow, it's cold!" he complained, as Gold showed him through to the lounge. "Remind me why I moved to Maine, again?"

"I have no idea," said Gold dryly. "Brandy?"

"God, yes!" Jefferson rushed over to the fire, holding up his hands to the heat. Gold eyed him, clad in tight black pants and a coat that seemed to have been purchased more for the way it draped his long figure than for any insulating properties it may have had.

"Given the weather, you may want to invest in a thicker coat," he suggested. "That looks as though you could spit through it."

Jefferson turned with a grin. "But I look good," he said, and winked. Gold rolled his eyes, turning back to the liquor cabinet.

"What brings you here, then?" he asked. "Regina didn't need you for a little after-school spanking?"

"You're _hilarious_ ," said Jefferson sourly. "I came to keep you company, if you must know."

"Because we both know how I value that," remarked Gold dryly, getting out two brandy glasses.

"I think you secretly enjoy my visits, and you just won't admit it."

"Well, I suppose it beats reading that turgid nonsense," admitted Gold, gesturing towards the book he had tossed aside. "Remind me not to buy anything that's won a literary prize ever again."

"Noted. This is why I only read trashy novels."

"Hmm." Gold held up one of the glasses, wiping a speck of dust from the rim before setting it down again.

"Belle French's father died," said Jefferson calmly, and Gold stilled, his hand outstretched, fingers poised over the brandy bottle. Icy touches stole up his back, dread for how she must be hurting, how she must miss her father.

"I see," he said quietly. "I presume she won't be in school for a while, then."

"She's taking a week off, that's all," said Jefferson. "Are you gonna pour that brandy, or look at it?"

Gold clutched at the neck of the bottle, his hand shaking slightly.

"When's the funeral?" he asked, and heard Jefferson shrug.

"Friday, apparently. You going?"

"No." Gold turned. "Why would I, I didn't know the man! Why the hell would she want _me_ there?"

Jefferson held up his hands. "Okay, man, just asking. You seemed interested in how she was doing, I thought you might want to see for yourself."

Annoyed with his own defensiveness, Gold turned back to the brandy glasses, pouring a generous measure into each one and handing a glass to Jefferson.

"Cheers, man." Jefferson clinked his glass against Gold's, and took a swig, closing his eyes with a contented noise. "Wow, that's pretty damn good, Gold, I have to say."

"I don't enjoy rubbish."

"Oh, come on!" Jefferson gave him a reproachful look. "I'm total trash, and you like me!"

"Speaking of." Gold crossed to his antique dresser and fished out Carella's wedding invitation, holding it up between two fingers. "Are you coming to this, or not?"

"Of course." Jefferson looked surprised. "Although you don't have to wait for some big occasion to ask me on a date, you know."

Gold sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "A condition of you coming to this thing is you _not_ pretending that we're dating, understand? Carella and her wife-to-be are already far too invested in my non-existent sex life. They certainly don't need you encouraging them."

Jefferson flipped him a salute.

"Don't worry, man. It's a wedding! Music, champagne, me looking irresistible. A bunch of strangers I never have to see again - what's not to like?" He grinned at Gold, pointing at him. "Just get me in there, and I promise I won't even grab your ass."

"You'd better not," said Gold coolly, and Jefferson looked exasperated.

"What I mean is, I won't cramp _your_ style, as long as you promise not to cramp mine."

"How the hell would I manage that?" Gold took a swig of his brandy, enjoying the smooth warmth, the hints of caramel, chocolate and nutmeg in amongst the fire.

"You haven't exactly been a ray of sunshine lately," Jefferson reminded him. "If you're gonna be my wingman, you need to look as though you're there to support me in my pursuit of the person of my choice, not to murder someone."

"It's not as though homicidal maniac is a default look for me," said Gold wryly, and Jefferson grinned.

"I was thinking more 'contract killer', but okay."

Gold's mouth flattened, despite his amusement, and Jefferson put his head to the side, gesturing with his glass.

"You do look a little better than you have recently," he admitted, and raised an eyebrow. "Crisis over, I take it?"

Gold turned away from him, pacing to the fireplace and resting his glass on the mantelpiece.

"I didn't have a crisis," he muttered.

"Uh-huh." Jefferson sounded disbelieving. "Look, I get it, you don't have to tell me. Fact remains that you were acting like a teenager who'd suffered his first heartbreak. Except with more alcohol."

Gold grunted. "Well, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern."

"No problem."

There was a moment of silence, and he stared into the flames, watching bright tongues of fire leap and dance, sparks blazing, quick and bright before they died.

"You know, if you ever want to talk to me about it, I won't judge you," said Jefferson carefully, and Gold's mouth twisted in a slanting grin.

"Oh, but you should," he said quietly.

* * *

The funeral passed in something of a blur for Belle. She had picked out a suit for her father's body, laying it carefully on the bed and looking it over. It would be too big for him, given how much weight he had lost, but it was the best she could do, and she put it carefully into a garment bag. She couldn't bring herself to think of the thing that lay in the coffin as being him, though. His spark was gone, his soul fled, and what remained, the hollow shell with her father's face, was unrecognisable to her. She made the appropriate noises when she visited the funeral home to view the body in its casket, however, twisting his old baseball cap between her hands. She slipped it onto the head before the casket was closed, and it did look more like him. She wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

Once she had satisfied herself that his body was ready to be buried, she only had herself to think about, all the other arrangements having been made. She had a black dress, of course, although it was loose on her now, her appetite shrunk to almost nothing over the period of his illness. Granny was already trying to feed her up, but she could manage only small meals, so she tried to pack as much nutrition into those as she could, the logical part of her brain knowing that she had to eat, but having neither the energy nor the inclination to do it. Smoothing the dress over her hips, she sighed as she looked in the mirror. She would do. Ruby smiled at her, in her own demure knee-length dress and kitten heels. Belle wrapped a black coat around herself, feeling that it was too big, but its loose folds were comforting, swathing her in dark wool, letting her hide a little.

The service was short and unmemorable to her. Her father had never been more than a casual churchgoer, but she had chosen his favourite hymns, and she was surprised and gratified at the number of people that attended. Ruby and Emma were on either side of her, a comforting presence, and she found herself leaning a little against Ruby, needing that reassurance, that contact. The day was cold and crisp as they stood by the graveside, and she let the cold fill her, let it seep through her shoes and into her bones and chill her soul. She barely heard the words that were spoken, and Ruby had to nudge her when it was time to pick up the shovel, its tip black with grave-dirt, ready to begin the process that would cover the body and take her father from her life for all time.

* * *

From the shadows of the old yew trees, Gold watched her, standing erect by the graveside, her chin lifted, eyes dry. She was thinner, he saw, her cheeks a little hollowed. The black coat she wore was too much for her, swamping her tiny form, eating the light and the life that he had loved to see shining from her. Before.

His fingers tightened around the cane handle as the odd word drifted over to him from the service. _Father. Loving. Heaven._ It meant nothing to him, and from the stony look on Belle's face it meant little to her. It said nothing of what her father had been to her, what she had been to him, of his life, his work, his love for his dead wife and his only child. She looked at the ground as the priest spoke, teeth worrying her lower lip. Her face was paler than usual; the soft pink roses that bloomed in her cheeks were gone, and her eyes looked large and very dark. It didn't look as though she had been crying, and he thought that she probably needed to. She was leaning slightly against the Lucas girl, the other with her face sober. _Her_ eyes were puffy, he noticed. The Swan girl was on the other side, blonde hair rippling in the breeze, stoic and stern. She would make a good police officer, he thought. Or a trained assassin, if she went the other way.

There was a shuffling around the graveside, and the coffin was lowered. Belle picked up the shovel, struggling with the half-frozen dirt for a moment before she managed to lift a clod of it and toss it into the grave. He had never liked this part of the ritual, the finality of it, the terrible reminder of mortality. He watched Belle, with her pale beauty and her smooth cheeks, and hated to think that one day it would be her being laid in the ground, that nothing was permanent, that everything that was young and bright and beautiful would one day wither and fade and die.

The graveside huddle was starting to break up, mourners squeezing Belle's shoulder and murmuring the usual inanities, he had no doubt. She smiled wanly and clutched hands and patted shoulders and made them all feel better about themselves as they left. The townsfolk started to make their way back into Storybrooke, no doubt to drink and laugh and tell themselves they were honouring her father, when not one of them had stepped in to help when she needed them. Except her friends, he supposed. The Swan girl hugged her tight before pulling back and squeezing her hands, saying something he couldn't make out. Belle gave her a wobbly smile. The Lucas girl enveloped both of the others in a hug, long arms wrapping around them, and the three of them broke apart, the two friends seeming to beckon to Belle, blonde hair and dark buffeted by the wind. Whatever it was they said, Belle shook her head, made a shooing gesture at them. They wavered a little, but she turned back to the grave, and they left with troubled faces, arms linked as they followed the trail of townsfolk back to the diner.

Gold flexed his fingers on his cane, his overcoat and gloves keeping the worst of the wind from him even as the cold seeped through the soles of his shoes, and watched Belle hungrily from the creeping dark. The orange sun was already past its peak, sinking towards the horizon and making the headstones extend fingers of shadow across the frozen ground towards her. She squatted down on her heels, running a hand over the cold granite of the headstone, her fingertips swirling around the carved letters of her father's name. She was speaking under her breath as she did so, words he was unable to make out, a last goodbye.

He wasn't sure why he had decided to come. Jefferson had mentioned, casually, when the funeral would be held, and he had lain awake thinking about it, wondering what she was going through, whether she, alone in her bed, was crying and miserable. Whether she thought of him. A tiny, selfish part of him wanted her to, and he had crushed that feeling ruthlessly. He shouldn't be thinking of her. He shouldn't be watching her now, haunting her, a dark spectre drawing comfort from her presence. He didn't deserve to see her. To interrupt this private moment, to look upon her when he had said…he couldn't bear to think of the things he had said. But it was for the best. She would move on, grow up. Live. Love. She would be free of him. He would be wretched, and heartsick, but she would be free.

She finished speaking, and there was a quick flash, a quirk of her lips, almost a smile, before she pressed her hand against her father's name once more, and straightened up. Her chin lifted, and her eyes locked onto his.

He quailed, the power in her gaze boring through him to the dark and shrivelled thing that passed for a soul. They stood for a long moment, Belle regarding him with a calm, almost emotionless expression. He could sense the tension in her though, the high-strung, almost desperate aura of a creature that wanted nothing more than to run, to flee. Clenching his jaw, he stood his ground and waited for her to leave. He should have known better. She would always be braver than he was. She would always face the things she feared. Her lower jaw shifted, protruding a little, and he sighed inwardly as she seemed to steel herself, circling the grave and striding towards him. She stopped about six feet away, out of the shadow of the tree, out of the range of his power, the winter sun still shining on her and picking out red highlights in her hair.

"Belle," he said quietly, and her mouth twisted uncomfortably.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice sounded strangely young, like that of the child she would still have been, had he not come into her life. Had he not defiled her.

"I don't know," he admitted, and she nodded brusquely.

"Well, the service is over," she said, her voice clipped. "If you want to pay your respects, I won't stop you. There's a wake at Granny's. She made lasagne and open sandwiches, and the beer's half price until seven." She spoke almost in a monotone, as though the words had been learned by rote, like a cheerless advertisement.

"I don't think so," he said quietly. "I won't intrude on your grief."

"And yet..." she said pointedly, gesturing towards him, and he looked at the ground, his mouth working, hands tightening on his cane, the leather fingers of his gloves creaking a little.

"I'll go," he nodded, and turned away, walking in amongst the trees that ringed the small cemetery. The yew and pine made way for maple, birch and chestnut, and his shoes crackled faintly in the fallen leaves as he made his way slowly back to the small clearing where he had parked the car. He could sense her following him, her light not completely diminished, the fire and spirit that defined her shrunken and cowed, but still there, still nestled at her core. The rustle of leaves behind him confirmed his suspicions, and then he heard a thump and felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. He clapped a hand to the spot where he'd been hit, feeling tiny pieces of rough debris on his fingertips: dead pine needles, he thought.

"You're a bastard!" she blurted, and he froze, leaning heavily on the cane.

"I've never denied that," he said, and could feel her frustration mounting, a tense, fizzing electricity in the air between them.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded. "The things you said…"

He turned slowly to face her, guilt twisting painfully in his guts. She was looking at the ground, chewing her lip, a pinecone clutched in her hand. He presumed she had thrown another at him in her anger, which was what had struck him. Her feet shuffled slightly in the hard frost, the pointed toe of her boot turning over a fallen maple leaf, its colour muted, rot setting in as it turned to mulch with the others. He waited for her to speak, knowing that he deserved whatever else she'd throw at him. She stamped firmly on the leaf, pushing it down into the earth and raising her head.

"The things you said," she repeated, her lower lip trembling slightly. "About me. Did you mean them?"

He hesitated. It was on the tip of his tongue to lie and say that he had meant every word. It would end things for good between them. It would give her closure, leave her free to hate him, to move on with her life. Yet she was so pale, so vulnerable, so terribly damaged, and once more he took the coward's way out. He couldn't do it.

"No," he whispered, and her face crumpled a little.

"Then why?" she pleaded. "You broke me, do you know that? I cried for days."

"You know why," he said calmly, and she grimaced in pain, looking up at the sky as though she would somehow find answers there.

"Papa was right about you," she said miserably, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"I have no doubt of it," he remarked. "What did he say?"

"That you had darkness in you," she said, meeting his eyes. "That you'd hurt me."

"Then he was a better judge of people than you," he sighed. "A perceptive man."

"Don't!" she snapped, her eyes flashing. "Don't talk about him like you knew him! You didn't!"

"No." He looked at the ground, at the reddish-brown of the earth and the dead leaves beneath his feet. "No, I didn't."

She was silent for a moment, chewing her lip in agitation. He tried to think of something to say, anything that might give her comfort.

"I know how much you loved him," he ventured, glancing up at her. "I know how…"

He cut off as she burst into cold, humourless laughter.

"Love?" she said disbelievingly. "What the hell would _you_ know about that?"

He looked down, his mouth twisting in pain, and she seemed to shrink in on herself once more. A weary sigh escaped her, sending a plume of white into the air, as though it were the lingering smoke of that tiny spark of anger, snuffed out by the weight of her grief.

"How - how are you feeling?" he ventured, knowing it was a ridiculous question as soon as it left his mouth. She regarded him calmly.

"I'm _feeling_ nothing," she said. "Just empty. Numb. In some ways it makes things easier. I guess I have you to thank for that."

He sucked in his cheeks, feeling terrible. Why the hell had he come? Could he not leave her in peace?

"Is there anything you - need?" he asked, already knowing the answer, and her mouth flattened.

"From you? No."

He nodded, and she stirred the leaves with the toe of her shoe, frost glinting on the black leather. The wind caught her hair, dark strands curling across her face. He remembered how it had felt to touch her, the softness of her skin beneath his fingers, the heat of her body and the sounds she had made when she was beneath him, when he was inside her. Disgusted with himself, he concentrated on the set of her mouth, where her lower lip was trembling a little, reminding himself of what he had done to her.

"You hurt me so much," she whispered, and he grimaced, looking at the ground.

"My hurting you was inevitable, Belle," he said. "From the first moment I touched you. I knew that, and I did it anyway."

"Why?" she asked softly. "Why do that, if you knew?"

He looked up at her then, the breeze buffeting his hair, his smile thin, humourless, self-deprecating.

"Because you're beautiful," he said quietly. "So beautiful. A light in the darkness. And because at my heart I am selfish, and greedy, and I saw you, and I wanted you. So I took you."

She dropped her gaze, her lips twisting as she tried to hold back her emotions. Her mouth worked, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She looked at the pinecone in her hand, turning it over and over, dead needles dropping from it, and tossed it aside.

"I don't want you at the wake," she said, her voice shaking a little, not looking at him. It hurt: God, her rejection fucking hurt, but he deserved it. He deserved everything she could throw at him. She raised her head, finally meeting his eyes, her jaw set and eyes flashing, the spark of anger fanned to flames. He waited for her to call him out, to yell and scream at him for the agony he had put her through, but the fire seemed to go out of her in an instant, seemed to die in her eyes, leaving a terrible, dark emptiness, and she said nothing. She simply turned on her heel and stalked away from him, shoulders stiff, as though she carried the weight of the world, and, like the coward he was, he let her go a second time.

* * *

 **A/N: It may not seem like it right now, but things are going to get better for them, I promise**

 **Next time: Unsurprisingly, Belle has more that she wants to say to him**


	16. Anger

**A/N: To those of you who have sent Guest reviews, or don't have the reply thing enabled in , thank you so, so much for your comments. I would have replied if I could. It really is appreciated.**

 **Last chapter Gold admitted to Belle that he had been lying to her when he said all those terrible things, and she walked off. Here's what happened next.**

* * *

Belle was shaking as she made her way across the cemetery, threading her way between the gravestones almost without seeing them, feeling his eyes on her back. She had wondered what her reaction would be upon meeting him again. Given how numb, how unreal she had been feeling since he ended things, she had not expected the rush of anger and hurt. He looked older, she thought, sad and tired, his eyes shadowed, and she wondered if he felt any sort of remorse for what he'd done. She had been prepared to shout at him, to _yell_ at him, but his confession that everything he had said to her had been a lie had rocked her. A part of her had not wanted to believe the awful words he had spoken, of course, but he had done such a thorough job of breaking her faith in him, in _them_ , that she had been left bereft, wondering if everything else that she had felt was also a lie.

Her legs were trembling a little, and once she was sure that she was out of his line of sight, she leant against a tree and took a few deep breaths, head down, gloved hand pressed against the rough bark of the pine trunk. Why had he come? She had not thought him so cruel as to want to torture her, but then the man she had seen that day in his kitchen, the man who had spat those terrible words at her, had been unrecognisable. It was entirely possible that he took some sort of sick pleasure in her torment.

After a minute or so, she straightened up, breathing a little easier, and brushed herself off, trying to calm her nerves. Everyone would be at Granny's, and if she took too long, Ruby might come looking for her. Straightening her shoulders, she made her way to the centre of town, not looking back.

The warmth of the diner hit her as she opened the door, dark-clad patrons turning as one to look at her, the murmur of conversation momentarily dying as she entered. She offered a tremulous smile to everyone, and immediately went to the counter to get a cup of hot cocoa. Granny sprinkled cinnamon on it and added some marshmallows, and Belle wrapped her hands around the cup, cherishing its warmth. Emma sidled up next to her, Ruby trailing behind..

"Hey," she said. "Want something to eat? The lasagne's pretty good."

Belle shook her head, a hand pressed to her stomach. She felt sick. Emma looked worried, but nodded.

"Promise me you'll have something later," she said, and Belle gave her a tired smile.

"Yes, _Mom_ ," she said dryly, and Emma grinned.

"Someone has to look after you," she said, stirring her milkshake. "I've decided on the role of Mom. Mary will be your study-buddy." She inclined her head. "Ruby called the role of your moral compass, by the way, so you're screwed."

Ruby looked affronted, and Belle giggled, despite herself. Emma leant back against the counter, looking around the bar.

"Good turnout," she observed. "Your dad would be pleased, I think."

"Yes." Belle sipped at her cocoa. "He'd probably think it was too much fuss, but yes. Everyone's been so kind."

There was a moment of silence. She tried to distract herself by eyeing the diner's patrons, but _his_ face kept swimming into her head, _his_ words in her mind. She chewed her lip anxiously, and Ruby frowned a little.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Is this - too much?" She gestured at the diner full of people, and Belle shook her head, even though the presence of so many people made her feel exhausted.

"I'm okay," she lied, and sipped her cocoa. "I'm glad it's over. Does that make sense?"

"Totally," nodded Emma.

"Completely," added Ruby, and put her head to the side. "What are you gonna do about the house?"

"I'll have to clear it," sighed Belle, dreading the thought. "It's being put up for sale straight away."

"Will it be weird?" asked Emma. "Seeing other people in your house?"

Belle shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "I'm not sure it feels like 'my house' anymore. All I can think about when I look at it is how sick he was, so I guess I'm happy not to have to deal with it anymore."

"We can help," said Ruby anxiously. "We'll help you pack, and clean up in there, won't we, Emma?"

"Of course!" Emma assured her, and Belle sent them both a wobbly smile as she turned the cup in her hands, a tawny sprinkling of cinnamon disappearing in a swirl of hot cocoa.

* * *

She stayed downstairs as long as she could stand. Townsfolk came up to her to pay their respects, and while they were all extremely kind, she found it almost unbearable. They all wanted to talk about her father; a funny story, a joke he had told them, a time when he had helped them out, and she didn't want to hear it. It was difficult enough to hold herself together without a dozen or more memories of him smiling and laughing, when she had just put his body in the ground. Granny seemed to spot her discomfort, and suggested gently that she go and get changed, steering her towards the stairs with a firm hand. Belle was grateful. She made her way wearily up to her new room, the walls still bare, the closet half empty. She knew she would have to return to the house at some point to collect the remainder of her things and sort through her father's belongings, but she couldn't bear to think of it right then.

She stripped off the formal dress that was too big for her, putting it carefully on its hanger and shoving it to the back of the closet, where she never wanted to see it again. Pulling on her bathrobe, she went to take a shower, standing under the hot water for half an hour and letting it stream over her face, allowing her mind to empty, her breathing to steady, the odd numbness she had been feeling since her father's death oozing over her and shutting out the world.

She emerged, skin pink and warm and hair dripping, and spent a long time smoothing lotion onto herself. The rhythmic stroking of her hands against her limbs, her belly, her breasts, was soothing, and she gently massaged her legs and shoulders and upper arms, the aching in her muscles from the long days of little rest eased with the stroke of her hands. She dried her hair and brushed it, tugging at knots and tangles until it hung in shining waves around her face. Seated before the mirror, she studied herself. She had lost weight, and her face was thinner, older. Her eyes were older too, as though they had seen too much, the pupils dark and knowing. She was an orphan.

She could still hear noise from downstairs in the diner, but it was a little more muted, and she presumed most of the funeral guests had left. It was only six o'clock, though, so Ruby and Emma would still be there. Mary too, perhaps, so she got dressed, pulling on tights and a black skirt and shirt. She even donned some lipstick, to lift the paleness of her face, and blinked at herself in the mirror a few times. She barely recognised the face staring back at her, and her mouth flattened as she pulled on her boots and turned away from her own reflection

The diner was mercifully quieter when she went downstairs, Leroy and Astrid enjoying a beer with Tom Clark, the pharmacist, and Walter, the school caretaker. Ruby, Mary and Emma were huddled around a table, chatting, and Belle slipped into the seat beside Ruby, giving Granny a wan smile when she set a milkshake in front of her. She stirred it with a straw, the thick liquid sending up the scent of amaretti biscuits and vanilla. Ashley had been experimenting again. She took a tiny sip, and flavour exploded across her tongue, but her stomach was still a knot of tension. Her mouth twisted, but Granny was watching her sharply, and she poked at the shake with her straw for something to do.

"Better?" asked Mary gently, and Belle shrugged.

"Long shower," she said. "I feel - I don't know. I'm still kind of numb."

"You going back to school next week?" asked Ruby, and Belle nodded.

"Principal Mills said I could take another week, but I don't see the point," she said. "I'd rather keep busy, anyway. Less time to think."

The girls nodded sagely, and there was a moment of silence.

"Hey, what about your tutor?" asked Emma suddenly. "I guess you'll be in class with us again, huh? You'll have to put up with Gold being an asshole."

Belle's stomach lurched at the mention of his name.

"I - don't think so," she said uncomfortably, still sticking with the story she'd given them. "The bill was paid until the end of exams, as far as I know."

"Dammit, I was hoping you could suffer with us," grumbled Emma.

"He's not that bad, if you do the work," said Ruby reasonably. "Although he's been a bit - weird - lately, I gotta say."

"What d'you mean?" asked Belle nervously, and Ruby shrugged.

"I don't know. We thought he had a problem at first. Kept turning up looking like he'd been drinking all night. More sarcastic than ever. Now he just looks…"

"Sad," put in Mary, and Ruby nodded.

"We think he had some bad news, or something," she added. "I asked him if he was okay, and he almost bit my head off."

"Oh." Belle wasn't sure what to do with that information, and took another sip of her shake. Perhaps he just felt guilty, although why he should feel guilty when he had gotten what he wanted eluded her. She turned her milkshake slowly around on the tabletop, the glass cool on her fingertips, thinking over what he had said to her. It had been lies, he had said, but he had still told them. Had still known they would hurt her, had _meant_ for them to hurt her. Why had he done it? Why hadn't he tried to talk to her? If he truly didn't want to be with her, why had he not told her? Instead he had treated her like an idiot, like a child who had to be pushed and manipulated into making a decision that he was too cowardly to make himself. She could feel frustration and anger building within her again, and she barely heard as the girls discussed their plans for Christmas. She remembered his cool, calm demeanour as he had taken her love, her faith, and twisted it into something foul. She remembered her devastation, her grief, the way she had felt as though her heart had been ripped from her chest. And he had the nerve to act like it had _hurt_ him?

"Belle." Ruby's voice broke through her mental turmoil, and she jerked, looking up. Her three friends were watching her curiously, and she pushed the shake away, swinging her legs out from under the table.

"Excuse me," she muttered. "I have to get out of here for a while, I'm sorry."

"We could come with you…" began Emma, but she shook her head, waving a hand at them as she headed for the stairs to grab her coat and scarf. Three pairs of anxious eyes followed her out of the diner, and she prayed that they wouldn't follow her. Not where she was going.

* * *

She walked briskly, concentrating on the path ahead of her, trying not to think about what she would say to him in case she lost her nerve. The sun had long since set, streetlamps sending out their cool glow and birds roosting in the leafless maples that lined the road. A couple of Storybrooke residents hurried by on the dark streets, reluctant dogs on leashes following them. They barely spared her a glance, for which she was thankful. She didn't need anyone knowing where she was headed. Shoving her chin down into the warm woollen scarf, the cold making her eyes stream, she turned into the road where his house stood. Yellow light shone from the porch, evidence of him being at home, and she was unsure whether she was glad or not. Perhaps she should have taken some time to think over what she would say, but time to reflect might equally have led to a loss of courage, and she needed to do this, needed to confront him.

She hesitated, her foot on the first step, the scrape of her sole on the wood unnaturally loud. She could hear music from the house, something slow and mournful, and she momentarily wavered, wondering if she had the strength, wondering if she would react to him in the same way that she always had, if she'd be weak, if she'd want him. Reminding herself firmly that he'd made it very clear that he didn't want _her_ , and therefore her feelings towards him were irrelevant, she lifted her chin, and made her way up the steps, lifting a gloved hand and knocking on the door. His shadow appeared, creeping and growing, filling the glass as he approached, and when he opened the door he didn't seem surprised to see her. His eyes looked sad and tired, the lids heavy and dark, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he seemed to shrink in on himself a little, the light shining on his hair. It made her anger grow. What right did _he_ have to be miserable, after everything he'd done?

"Hello, Belle," he said quietly.

She pushed past him without a word, marching through the hallway and into the kitchen, and spinning on her toes to face him, arms folded protectively around herself. Her breath was quickening in her agitation, coming hard through her nose, and he followed her more slowly. He was still wearing black, she noticed, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. She was glad that he wasn't dressed as he had been that fateful day when he had poured the vitriol of his lies over her, smothering her, blistering her soul and burning her to ash. She wasn't sure that she would have felt equipped to face him like that. In his current state, tie off, shirt unbuttoned and sleeves pushed up his forearms, he looked more human, more vulnerable. The light glinted on the tiny hairs on his arms, on the silver at his temples, and she ran her eyes over him. His hands twitched on the handle of his cane, long fingers opening out and closing again, and her belly gave a sudden, traitorous lurch as she remembered the pleasure of his touch. She crushed the thought, shoving it to the back of her mind. He didn't want her. He had made that abundantly clear.

"Why did you come?" she demanded. "I was doing fine on my own, I didn't need _you_ there!"

He looked pained, glancing at the floor.

"I didn't mean for you to see me," he said quietly. "I just - I wanted to see how you were, that's all."

"Why?" she snapped. "You don't want me, you told me that! Were you just checking to see if I was still broken? Or maybe you thought of something else that was really bloody painful that you didn't get a chance to say that day. Was that it?"

"No." He didn't elaborate, merely stood with his cane grounded between his feet, those sad eyes watching her. She felt her rage swell; she wanted to slap him, to claw at his face with her nails, and was shocked by her own reaction, so she dropped her eyes, turning away from him with her hands on her hips as she paced back and forth, a prowling cat. The kitchen was too warm, too close, and she unwound the scarf from her neck, tossing it onto the kitchen table, breathing hard as she unbuttoned her coat.

"I don't even know why _you're_ looking so sad," she said petulantly, shrugging off the coat and sending it to join the scarf. "Everyone's noticed, you know. Ruby and Emma think maybe you had some bad news. It's almost like they feel _sorry_ for you!"

"And how does that make you feel?" he asked calmly, and she whirled on her feet to face him.

"Don't try and psychoanalyse me, you arsehole! I'm really, really mad at you and I bloody well have a good reason!"

He held up a hand, trying to calm her, and it only made her more angry.

"What the hell do you have to be sad about?" she shouted, lifting her arms and letting them drop. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"I didn't want this," he pleaded. "I didn't - I didn't realise it would hurt you so much, Belle."

"How could you _not know_?" she demanded. "Are you so inept that you…" She shook her head. "No. No, you're a fucking liar! You knew _exactly_ how much it would hurt me, that's why you said it!"

"I said it because I thought it was the right thing to do," he snapped. "I said it because I knew there was no other way!"

Belle opened her mouth angrily, but then shut it again, chewing her lip and staring at the floor as the rage seemed to leave her body in a rush, leaving her tired and desperately sad. She looked up at him, and he was breathing hard, his eyes dark with some emotion she couldn't interpret.

"Did you even care about me at all?" she asked, her voice tiny, as small and lost as she felt. "Was _anything_ you said to me true? Any of it?"

"Yes!" he hissed, his eyes flashing. "I cared, alright? I cared a great deal too much, if you must know."

"How can you care _too much_?" she demanded. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"I cared too much to want to trap you in a doomed relationship, of course!" he said coolly. "What the hell did you think was going to happen?"

"I don't know!" She glared at him. "Strangely enough I wasn't planning my future, I was trying to get through one day at a time! You actually made that easier, until you decided to pull the bloody rug out from under me. But I guess you got what you wanted, so you didn't care!"

"I wanted you safe!" he said sharply. "I wanted you away from me, and living your own life!"

"How the hell I live my life is for _me_ to decide!" she shouted. "You think it's okay that you tried to push me into making the decision _you_ wanted? How _dare_ you! Why couldn't you just be honest with me?"

"Because I didn't have the fucking strength!" he snapped. "Because I didn't trust myself!"

"And you didn't think enough of me to ask my opinion, right?" she blurted. He looked away, and she threw up her hands in frustration.

"I _hate_ this!" she cried. "I hate that I knew, I just _knew_ you were talking out of your bloody arse, and I let myself believe you! I let you tell me I was nothing to you, that I was - was damaged goods!"

He winced and looked down, his mouth twisting in pain, as though he couldn't bear to hear the words or see her face, and it made her even angrier, as though he were trying to pretend her hurt wasn't there, wasn't real. As though he wanted to forget what he'd done.

"Do you know how it feels?" she demanded. "To have someone you trust, someone you've - you've _given_ yourself to, take every single terrible thought you've ever had about yourself and use it against you?"

Gold swallowed hard, his head hanging. Her anger was understandable, and he deserved it. He deserved far worse, truth be told.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he whispered. "I never meant those things, I swear it. I want you to try to understand…"

"Shut up!" she shouted, fists clenched at her sides. "You don't get to tell me what to do! You don't get to stand there and act like you're sorry and it'll go away! You don't get to manipulate me any more, do you hear me?"

He held up a hand, trying to pacify her, finally looking at her.

"That's not what I'm trying to do," he said quietly. "I swear it, Belle…"

"I don't believe you!" she blurted, her eyes bright with tears. "I don't believe _anything_ you say!"

"I don't blame you," he said softly, and she spun away from him, turning her back, hunching her shoulders, her head bowed. He wondered if she was crying, and his heart clenched. Hesitantly, he took a step forward, reaching out with one trembling hand, but she shook him off violently as soon as he touched her shoulder.

"I don't believe anything you say," she repeated, her voice barely more than a whisper. "How can I? How can I believe you when you lie so well?"

He let his hand fall uselessly at his side, dropping his head to stare at the rug, at the shining toe of his shoe.

"I know," he said quietly. "I don't - I don't expect you to believe me, sweetheart, but…"

"Don't call me that!" she said sharply, and he sighed.

"I'm sorry." He kept his voice gentle. "I don't blame you for hating me, Belle."

She let out a tiny, humourless laugh, shaking her head, and put her hands on her hips as she looked up at the ceiling.

"I don't _hate_ you," she said wearily. "I don't hate anyone. I hate _this_." She spread her hands as she turned to face him, gesturing between them.

"I hate that I believed the things you said," she said, her jaw working a little as she sought to keep her voice steady. He made himself look at her, at the pain she was feeling, the pain he had caused.

"I hate that you cut me out of your life in the most brutal way, just when I needed you most," she added, and he felt like cringing.

"I hate that a part of me wants to slap your stupid bloody face!" she said, her voice shaking. He nodded.

"I deserve it, Belle, I know that…"

"But another part of me just wants you to hold me," she went on, and her lip wobbled as she spoke, her voice thick with emotion. "I want you to hold me and kiss me and tell me that everything's gonna be fine, and I hate _that_ , that - that fucking _weakness_!"

She was shaking now, her body trembling, tears welling in her eyes, and he badly wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her close and keep her safe.

"I hate that I still let you have this power over me," she whispered, and swallowed hard, squaring her jaw, seeming to steel herself before she met his gaze. "I hate - I hate that I still love you."

Her words pierced through him, knocking the breath from him, and he took a step backwards. She was breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on him, and he simply stood there, blinking stupidly at her for a moment.

"You _love_ me?" he breathed, and her mouth twisted as she looked away.

"Don't worry, you don't have to think up some even more painful bloody way to get rid of me," she said dryly. "I've wanted to say it for months, and now I've said it. I don't need to say it again."

He didn't know how to respond. He had expected her anger, her rage, of course he had. He deserved them. But her love: that was something he had never anticipated. He had known she was attracted to him, although he couldn't for the life of him think why. They were certainly physically compatible, and perhaps she had mistaken the way he made her feel for something deeper. She was watching him from beneath hooded lids, the shadows beneath her eyes making their blue all the more startling.

"You're not saying anything," she observed, and he opened and closed his mouth.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked quietly, and her eyes narrowed, her mouth twisting in pain.

"Apparently you said everything you needed to," she said sadly. "I guess I have, too. I should go."

"Belle."

His voice stopped her as she went to move past him. He was close enough to touch, and she felt her skin tingle, the hair lifting at the back of her neck as she felt his eyes on her. Slowly, she turned to face him. He was so close she could feel his cool breath on her face, could sense the heat of his skin and the pull of his aura, a tense, crackling darkness that wrapped around her, that called to her.

"I truly didn't want to hurt you," he said quietly. "But it appears that intent is meaningless. I'm a monster, sweetheart."

She raised her head, meeting his eyes, anger rising back up within her, fuelled by his self-loathing, by his blatant refusal to credit her with the ability to make her own decisions.

"You're not a monster," she said clearly, and his eyebrows jerked in surprise. She stepped closer, until they were touching, gratified at the way his breath caught in his throat and his pupils widened and the tip of his tongue swept across his lips. She lifted her chin, raising a challenging eyebrow.

"You're a coward," she said, and he looked as though she'd punched him.

"I'm not a coward," he said evenly, and she shook her head.

"I've thought about this a lot," she said. "You did what you did because you were afraid, right? You didn't have the balls to talk to me about what you were feeling, and you got scared."

His smile was thin, humourless, and he tilted his head slightly.

"No," he said quietly. He was getting angry, she could tell. Well, good. It would make things easier if he would yell back at her, rather than stand there with his sad eyes and his bent head, looking as though she'd kicked him. Right now his eyes were gleaming, the fire in their dark depths making her belly twist and writhe, making her skin hum, and she remembered his touch, remembered how his fingers could make her shudder and scream and how his lips poured life into her. Her breath was coming in pants, and she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath the black silk, and she thought of him naked, of his bare chest pressing down on hers, and the way his skin tasted of salt and musk and _him_. All of a sudden she was tired of talking, tired of yelling at him and trying to get him to admit his mistakes. She lunged at him, her lips capturing his and her hands grabbing at his hair. He froze momentarily, but then his mouth opened and she could taste him, sweet and delicious on her tongue. She moaned into his mouth, pressing herself against him, and his arms crushed her to him, his tongue sliding against hers.

This was a bad idea, she knew. This would fix nothing, would complicate everything, but God, how she wanted him! She wanted his touch, wanted to feel him inside her, to see him lose control and cry out in pleasure. She could feel the hardness of him, pushed up against her belly, and the heat of his skin through the shirt, but it wasn't enough, would never be enough, and her hands tugged at the shirt, pulling it free from his pants, her fingers plucking at the buttons. They came undone, soft silk springing open, and she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, gasping at the skin she revealed, breathing in the scent of him as her mouth watered in response. He let the shirt fall, lifting his hands to cup her face as he kissed her hungrily, and she undulated, her breasts pushing against his chest.

His hands slid down her body, cupping her rear, and then he bent down a little, lifting her up onto the table and moving in between her knees. His hands mapped her, sliding over her hips and breasts, and she pulled her mouth free with a moan as he pinched at her taut nipples. She ran her hands up his naked back, loving the feel of his smooth skin beneath her fingers, trailing her touch around to his chest. His nipples were hard, dark peaks, and she ran her thumbs over them, making him groan in pleasure. She was still angry with him, though, still furious, and in a fit of petty rage she twisted them, hard. He threw his head back with a growling roar, his jaw tight with pain, and when he looked at her again she almost shrank back at the darkness in his eyes. He took her shirt in his hands and tore it open, buttons flying as he exposed her, and thrust his thumbs under the straps of her bra, pushing it down her arms with the shirt, the lace cups folding over and revealing the pale mounds of her breasts. He bent his head to them, sucking a nipple into his mouth, and she moaned, wrapping her legs around him, her hands carding through his hair as he sucked at her, his fingers scrabbling at her bra, unhooking it and letting it spring open. She shrugged out of the shirt and bra as he continued to lick and suck, his hands cupping her, tongue swirling around the hardened nipples.

Gold was lost in her, lost in the taste and scent and feel of her. A tiny part of his brain was screaming at him to stop, but he ignored it, shoving the thought aside in his haste to touch her, to taste her, to feel the warmth of her skin and breathe her in. He pulled back a little, letting her nipple slide from between his lips, dark pink and wet with his saliva. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, and he dropped his hands to her knees, sliding them up beneath her skirt until he reached the waistband of her tights. He tugged them down along with her panties, baring her pale thighs, his cock twitching in his pants when he saw the smear of fluid in her underwear, the proof that she wanted him. He bent to tug off her boots, dragging the tights and panties off at her feet, and kissed his way up her right leg, pushing her skirt up to her waist and burying his head between her thighs. His tongue flickered out, running between her folds and over her clit, and Belle cried out in response, her fingers twisting in his hair. She tasted divine, and he groaned aloud as he swept his tongue around in a slow circle before kissing his way up to her breasts and gently biting her, sucking on her pale skin and leaving his mark there.

Belle moaned, wanting him, wanting him inside her. He kissed up to her neck, sinking his teeth into her, and she wrapped her legs around his back, wishing he'd just drag her from the table, throw her down and fuck her hard like she knew he wanted to. He was frenzied, rougher and more detached than she had seen him, and she wanted that, wanted him to be rough. She didn't want gentleness from him, a sign that he cared, that he had feelings for her. She didn't want love from him. Not now.

He kissed her then, his tongue salty with the taste of her, and he slipped a hand between them, tugging her skirt out of the way so that he could touch her, his finger sliding inside her, his thumb rubbing at her clit. She moaned, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he pushed in and out, a second finger entering her, the pad of his thumb making her see stars. She arched her back, pressing into his hand, tension rising in her as she felt herself near her peak. Her head was rubbing against his, hair sticking to the perspiration beading on her brow, and his stubble was scraping her cheeks as he pressed into her, his thumb stroking her clit. She pushed up against him, grinding herself against his thrusting fingers, and for a brief, blissful moment she felt as though she was exploding, being pulled apart like threads to drift on the wind. She let out a long moan of ecstasy, her nails scoring furrows in his shoulders as he pushed and thrust and rubbed her, her heart pounding, her face flushed and damp.

He pulled out his fingers, coated in her juices, and lifted them to his mouth, sucking them clean and kissing her again, groaning as he shared the taste of her. His hands were in her hair, and she could smell her own musk, her own arousal. Wanting more, wanting _him_ , she fumbled at his belt, pulling it open and reaching for his fly. He pulled back, shaking his head.

"I don't - I can't," he whispered. "No protection, Belle."

"I don't care!" she breathed. "I don't care, I don't care!"

She opened up his pants, pushing them down his legs, and pushed up from the table towards him, making him stumble back and lose his balance. He fell hard, breath whooshing from his lungs as she landed on him, and groaned as the back of his head hit the floor with a crack. She reached down, shoving her hand inside his underwear and grasping him firmly, pumping him with her hand, and he reached up to run shaking hands through her hair, his thumbs stroking over her cheeks, her lips. She shook him off, tugging down his underwear and straddling him, grasping his cock in her hand and running the head against her wet flesh, letting him slide over her clit, a rush of sensation going through her.

Gold had let his head roll back, his chest heaving, wanting to burst at the feel of her, the wet heat of her core burning against him, no barrier between them. This was stupid, unbelievably so, and he knew that one or both of them would regret it in the morning, but he couldn't bring himself to care, and he groaned loudly as she sank down onto him, all silky heat and velvet folds and the scent of her pleasure filling his head. She braced herself with a hand on his belly, raising up so that she was upright, her gaze concentrated on the place where her fingers splayed against his skin. She began to move, and it felt so incredible that he wanted to weep. Her breasts were small and perfect, glowing in the warm light from the lamps, and he reached up to cup them, his thumbs grazing her nipples. He squeezed gently, and she leant backwards a little, the angle lifting her breasts, exposing her taut stomach. His fingers trailed over her skin, feeling the firm lines of her muscles, the curve of her hips, the soft swell of her buttocks. Her dark curls swung as she moved, shining in the light, and she was utter perfection, a goddess.

"Look at me, Belle," he whispered. "Look at me, beautiful."

He reached up, cupped her face with his hand, wanting to see her, wanting their eyes to meet, wanting that connection, but she wrenched her head away, eyes closed, shutting him out, and God, it hurt! She was moving more quickly now, her lips parted, her breasts bouncing as she rode him, faster and faster, her breath whistling through her lungs. He could feel his orgasm building, and clenched his jaw, trying to hold it off. He squeezed her hips to warn her.

"Belle!" he said desperately. "Sweetheart, I have to come, I can't hold it!"

She only moved faster, grinding herself against him, and he felt her break, heard her cry out in pleasure as white light burst through his head and he followed her, joining in her cries, her flesh pulling his essence from him and dragging it deep within her. He thrust up inside her, trying to get deeper, trying to feel every part of her, and Belle slowed to a stop and fell forwards onto her hands, her head bowed, panting for breath. His body was humming and tingling, the throes of their passion leaving him hollow, empty, exhausted, and she lifted off him and left him lying there while she pulled on her tights and underwear and straightened her skirt.

He watched her sleepily, running hands that still smelt of her over his face. She had picked up her ruined shirt and tossed it aside before scooping up his black silk. She drew it on over her bra, fastening the buttons and tying it in a knot at her waist, and the sight of her in his shirt caused a sudden, unexpected surge of desire and possessiveness, a need to wrap her in silks and take her to his bed and keep her with him for all time. Wearily, he tugged up his pants and underwear, his brow furrowing as she picked his wallet up off the kitchen counter and opened it. She counted out five ten-dollar bills, and turned to face him.

"Enough for the emergency contraception," she said coldly, and waved the sheaf of bills at him. "We had sex, and I took money. Does that make it easier for you?"

His mouth fell open in horror, and she threw his wallet on the table, stuffing the notes in her pocket.

"Belle, I didn't mean what I said, I told you…"

"Oh, please!" she snapped. "Don't humour me, I don't have the energy. You didn't want this, you told me. You didn't want _us_ , but it appears we can't stay away from each other, so perhaps we should come to some other arrangement. This seems appropriate, wouldn't you say? Given that I'm so very _willing_."

She finger-combed her hair, straightening her coat and wrapping the scarf around her neck, and he fastened his pants and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, holding onto the kitchen counter as he looked around for his cane. She made to walk past him, and he grasped at her arm, letting go as she shook him off violently.

"Belle," he pleaded, wishing she'd look at him, and she hesitated.

"Thank you for Astrid," she said quietly, not looking around. "I mean it. I couldn't have done it alone."

"Sweetheart..." Her mouth twisted at his words, and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, his heart breaking, wishing that he knew what to say to make her feel better.

"What I did," he said despairingly. "Ah, Belle, I fucked up! I was trying to do the right thing."

"The right thing," she said evenly, and he sighed.

"I knew I couldn't keep you," he whispered. "I knew I couldn't hold you, drag you into the shadows with me."

"You never asked," she said softly. "You never _knew_ anything, you just _assumed_."

There was nothing he could really say to that, because she was right, so he stood there for a moment, feeling helpless, one hand opening and closing as he tried to think of something to say that might fix what was broken. In the end it was she who broke the silence, turning her head slightly so that he could see the curve of her cheek, the pink softness of her lower lip.

"I meant what I said, you know," she said quietly. "About how I feel. I just don't know if it matters anymore."

He had never thought he could feel so bad. The deed itself had been painful enough, but this, her quiet disappointment, her pain, this was slow torture.

"I just wanted you to be free, Belle," he said, his voice a desperate whisper. "I wanted you to be happy."

She swallowed, her mouth working, and finally looked at him, her eyes bright with tears.

"Then why are we both miserable?" she whispered, and walked out without looking back. He heard the door slam behind her, and it was though winter itself had stolen into his house and snatched away her light, her warmth. Letting his head drop with a sigh, he spied her shirt, torn from her in his haste to be inside her, to feel her around him one more time. He shuffled towards it, bending to scoop it up in his hand. Buttons had scattered across the floor, and there were tiny tears in the fabric, but it was mostly intact, and her scent lingered, heady and addictive. He lifted it to his face, burying his nose in the softness of the cloth and breathing her in.

* * *

Belle walked quickly, her lower lip trembling as she sought to hold herself together. It had been a mistake to go there, to see him, to touch him again. She had thought that she was so angry that he wouldn't affect her, that she wouldn't want him, but he had gotten under her skin long ago, crawled beneath and wrapped himself around her heart. And now she had told him that she loved him, although the fact that he had not returned the endearment was not lost on her. She could feel his seed leaking from between her legs and into her underwear, and cursed her own stupidity, her own lack of self-control. It would mean another trip to the clinic, another encounter with the well-meaning but irritating Miss Faye, no doubt. She would have to try and get there without Ruby or Granny noticing, which was going to be a lot more difficult now that she was living with them.

For a moment, it all became too much for her, and she stopped walking, putting her hand on a lamppost and taking deep breaths to calm herself. He didn't want her. Or at least, he was happy to sleep with her, but he didn't want her in his life. Well, that was just fine! She lifted her chin and marched on, her pace quickening as her frustration grew. Walking into the diner was jarring, the heat and noise surrounding her, and Ruby gave her a curious look as she trotted up and said that she was going to bed, but claiming tiredness seemed an acceptable way of avoiding other people for the evening.

Once upstairs, she undressed wearily, draping his shirt over the back of a chair, and gave herself a quick wash, rinsing away the evidence of their encounter. There were bite marks on her neck and on her breasts, flowers of red blooming on her pale skin, the evidence of his passion alongside the pink patches caused by the scraping of his stubble, and she hoped that the scarf had covered her enough to prevent her friends seeing. She pulled on clean pyjamas and climbed into the as yet unfamiliar bed, hearing faint noise from the diner. She wasn't sure if she would sleep, but it was nice to lie in the cool darkness of the room and be still and quiet. She wondered if Gold was awake, if he was thinking of her, and then got annoyed with herself. He didn't want her, he had made that clear, and she needed to stop thinking about him, to push him out of her head. But his touch, his kisses, still filled her with fire, still made her melt and burn and see stars. It was foolish to dwell on it, to torment herself with what she couldn't have, a spoilt child whining to get its own way, but try as she might to push him from her head, she still wanted him. She still loved him.

Pushing herself up out of bed, she pulled off her pyjama top and tossed it aside, reaching out with a shaking hand to curl her fingers around the softness of his shirt. She drew it on, the black silk smooth and warm against her skin, the smell of him surrounding her, and fastened the buttons from between her breasts down to the bottom, where the shirt fell partway down her thighs. She climbed back into bed, hugging her arms around her belly and pulling the scent of him deep into her lungs, as though she would make him a part of her.

* * *

 **A/N: this is actually the beginning of the healing process, although she is still, understandably, really mad at him.**

 **Next time: More talking. Possibly more sex**


	17. Punishment

**A/N: So happy you're all along for the ride with me on this one. I'm back at uni now, which means less writing time (boo!).**

 **Last time, Gold was honest with Belle (for a change) which led to angry sex and nothing being resolved.**

* * *

Belle's mood hadn't improved the next morning, and her night of restless sleep hadn't helped. She was still upset with him, still hurt and extremely frustrated, but she also felt a surge of guilt that surprised her. She was not used to being so angry, or to allowing her negative feelings to manifest in a physical way, and she didn't think she liked it. Telling herself that it wouldn't happen again, she pulled on her clothes and tried to liven herself up with a quick wash. Checking her purse, she flipped through the fifty dollars she had taken from Gold with the tip of a finger that shook. It made her feel terrible, the notes almost oily against her fingers, guilt burning within her and warring with her own anger towards him. It _definitely_ wouldn't happen again.

Shoving the notes back in her purse, she shook out her hair, wound a scarf around her neck and made her way downstairs as quietly as she could. She was aware that her history of sneaking around and not falling over anything wasn't exactly stellar, but she needed to get to the next town without Ruby or Granny being aware of what she was up to. Heart in her throat, she had almost made it to the door when Ruby's voice made her jump.

"There you are!" said Ruby brightly, bounding up to her. "I was just going for a run. Want to come?"

"I…" Belle looked around, chewing her lip. "No, it's okay. You go."

Ruby put her head to the side, looking Belle over. "Are you okay? Where are you going so early?"

"Um…" Belle sighed, rolling her eyes. She was too bloody tired to think of anything clever in response, so she grabbed Ruby's arm and steered her out of the diner, around to the rear and out of the reach of prying eyes and ears of the townsfolk. Ruby's eyes were wide with astonishment as Belle turned to face her.

"I have to get to the clinic," said Belle without preamble. "I did a really, _really_ stupid bloody thing yesterday, and I need emergency contraception, okay?"

Ruby put her hands to her mouth, her eyes as big as saucers.

"Oh, honey!" she whispered. "I _thought_ something was up last night! Was it - was it that guy you were seeing?"

Belle hung her head, and Ruby sighed.

"Oh, sweetie!" she said sadly. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I don't know." Belle had begun pacing, head down and hands on hips. "I was - I was kind of ashamed, to be honest, Rubes."

"What?" Ruby shook her head, putting her hands on Belle's shoulders and turning her to face her. "Honey, no! You have nothing to be ashamed of! You were grieving! You get a free pass for bad-choice booty-calls."

"No, I didn't mean…" Belle cut off, letting her head roll back with a deep sigh. "Never mind, I guess I can give myself a hard time about it later. Will you help me?"

Ruby gave her a flat look. "You have to ask? Just give me five minutes to change. We'll tell Granny we're going Christmas shopping, or something."

Belle sighed again.

"Well, I do need to do that," she admitted, and Ruby grinned.

"See? Perfect cover story! You should get some breakfast first though." She frowned as Belle pulled a face. "At least drink some coffee and eat some toast, or something. I'm having some, so you may as well."

"Fine," grumbled Belle, but returned Ruby's hug with enthusiasm, feeling a little of the tension leave her.

"Thank you," she whispered, and Ruby nodded as she pulled back.

"You'd do the same for me, right?" she shrugged. "What are friends for?"

* * *

Belle was mostly silent on the bus, and Ruby watched her worriedly, clutching her hand for comfort, for which Belle was grateful.

"You know," Ruby began carefully. "You could get a prescription. I get a birth control shot. My doctor never told Granny about it, he's pretty good at keeping his mouth shut."

"I should probably have thought about that before," sighed Belle, rubbing her eye. "I just - I wasn't planning on doing it when I went over there, okay?"

"That's...kind of the point," said Ruby gently.

"I don't even know if I could afford it," admitted Belle, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Of course you could. It's not that expensive, and besides, we could always use help in the diner. Why don't you ask Granny for a few shifts?"

Belle hesitated. "That - that would actually be great," she said, feeling a little better. "You and Ashley wouldn't mind, would you?"

Ruby grinned at her. "Are you kidding? Ashley keeps saying that Granny should get another waitress in. The morning rush needs all hands on deck. You and I could cover it before school." She nudged Belle. "You can serve Leroy, with his sunny disposition and his bacon fixation."

Belle giggled. "I like Leroy," she said, a little reprovingly. "He's grumpy, but his heart's in the right place. I miss Astrid."

"Shall I tell Granny you're interested?" asked Ruby. "You could probably start on Monday."

Belle leant into her, briefly rubbing her head against Ruby's affectionately.

"Thank you, Rubes," she sighed. "Sometimes my brain feels like it's turned to mush."

"Understandable," nodded Ruby. "Good thing I'm here to deal with the practicals. Point of order: birth control. What do you say? You could look into it. At least that way, if you don't have a condom, it's no big deal."

"Well, I don't see that it's an issue going forward," said Belle gloomily, and Ruby hesitated.

"Did.." She cut off as Belle looked around. "Did you guys talk at all?"

Belle laughed coldly. "Oh yeah, we talked," she said dryly. "Or at least I yelled a lot. It didn't solve anything, and it didn't make me feel better." She waved a frustrated hand and let it fall. "Forget about it, Rubes, it doesn't even matter. I should never have gone over there."

She settled back in her seat, chewing her lip anxiously, and Ruby squeezed her hand again, but dropped the subject.

"You still okay for Friday?" she asked. "I know that you're probably not in the mood to celebrate, but you only turn seventeen once, right?"

"Yeah." Belle tried to sound more enthusiastic. "We should do something. I need to take my mind off things."

"Good!" Ruby looked pleased. "The Rabbit Hole it is. Ashley knows the barman. We might even be able to get a drink. At the very least Emma can kick our asses at pool."

"Count me in," said Belle, with a grin, and Ruby squeezed her hand again, beaming.

* * *

In the end, the visit to the clinic wasn't as bad as Belle had feared, or perhaps she had so much on her mind that the quiet disapproval of Miss Faye didn't really touch her. The nurse mentioned birth control again, her lips a little thin, and Belle assured her that she was looking into it and would be arranging something more reliable very soon, which earned a tiny, brief smile. Afterwards, she and Ruby did a little Christmas shopping, and the meagre contents of her purse made Belle think that the waitressing job would be useful for far more than birth control.

Fortunately, Granny was delighted to take her on as waitress, and Belle spent a long time with Ruby on Sunday, going over what was required. She had been worried that her lack of coordination would be an issue, but she hadn't dropped anything yet, which was a bonus.

"I'm not asking you to wear rollerblades," Granny had said dryly, when Belle had confessed her fears. "Everybody drops things. Try to make it a cup of coffee, rather than a couple of steaks."

The breakfast shift before school went reasonably well, and Belle managed to keep her head despite it being particularly busy. She had gotten one order wrong, but the customer, Dr Hopper, smiled at her, and said it wasn't a problem. Belle was cross with herself though, and Ruby had to talk some sense into her.

"How hard is it to remember a bloody Danish?" sighed Belle. "Why did I think he ordered coffee, not tea?"

"Because _everyone_ orders coffee," said Ruby reasonably. "Look, I'll take him his tea. Gives me a chance to wink at him and make him blush." She grinned, and Belle rolled her eyes. Ruby nudged her.

"Go on. You can take the next one." She nodded at the door, and Belle sighed, reaching into her pocket for the little pad she carried. She turned towards the door, and stopped dead as she saw Gold slipping into a seat by the window.

"What's he doing here?" she hissed, and Ruby shrugged.

"Mr Gold? He comes in here a few times a week. He's really not so bad out of school, you know. Good tipper." She shoved Belle. "Go on! He'll only ask for coffee, that's all he ever has."

Swallowing hard, a lump in her throat, Belle made her way over to his table while Ruby hurried off to get Dr Hopper's tea. Gold was reading a newspaper, and she hesitated before speaking, nerves twisting in her belly and making her want to run to the kitchen. Lifting her chin, she decided to be brave.

"What can I get you?" she asked, and the newspaper crumpled in his hands as he looked up in surprise. She kept her eyes on the pad in her hand, but she could feel his gaze.

"Belle," he breathed, and she shivered at the sound of his voice, remembering the way he whispered her name in the dark when he touched her, when he kissed her. The sound of her name on his lips when he came inside her. She bit the insides of her cheeks, hard.

"What can I get you, Mr Gold?" she repeated, and he seemed to start, folding the newspaper and laying it aside.

"Yes. Coffee, please. That's all."

She nodded, turning on her heel and walking away to fetch the coffee. Her hands didn't shake as she poured it, for which she was grateful, and she made herself look at him as she set it in front of him. The weak morning light shone through the window, making the silver in his hair gleam, and the lines around his eyes and mouth a little deeper. He still wasn't sleeping, she could tell, and a tiny, bitter part of her was glad. He reached for the coffee cup quickly, as though it were a shield, running his fingertips around the rim before curling them through the handle, and he breathed in the fragrant steam.

"I didn't know you worked here," he said, and she shrugged.

"First day," she said, in clipped tones. "Let me know if there's anything more I can get you."

She walked off before he could answer, Leroy's raised hand providing a useful distraction, and gradually felt herself calm as she took orders and poured coffee. Gold didn't ask for a refill, and when he requested the check she was relieved. He pushed some dollar bills towards her, and she took what was owed and pushed the others back. He held up a hand, palm outwards, a quelling gesture, dark eyes watching her.

"You can keep it," he said gently, and she shook her head.

"You asked for coffee," she said stonily. "I don't want paying for anything else."

"Belle!" He grasped her hand as she turned to go, his whisper urgent, his eyes pleading. She looked around hurriedly, but no one was watching, Ruby busy setting out plates of eggs and bacon before several diners.

"Don't," he begged softly. "Please, don't."

She met his eyes, squaring her jaw, trying not to shake at his touch. His fingers were warm on hers, the dollars crisp and cool beneath her hand, his eyes bright with sadness, with pain, and she felt a tiny, sharp sliver of guilt prick her conscience as she pulled free and walked away, leaving the dollars on the table.

* * *

Gold's week had started badly, and it got no better as the days passed. The students were full of end of term glee, and he had needed to send several of them to the Principal's office for infractions ranging from petty fights to practical jokes. Some wag had drawn an enormous, anatomically improbable penis on his chair, and he spent a good ten minutes wondering aloud which boy was so insecure about the size of his own manhood that he felt the need to project it in this way. Gary Gaston had shrunk in his seat at that, and Gold's eyes had narrowed. He had no proof, however, so he contented himself with being overly sarcastic with the idiot.

He was wiping down the whiteboards after class when Jefferson put his head around the door.

"Drink?" he offered, and Gold sighed.

"Why not?" he grumbled. "We can both sit in that dive of a bar and watch our lives pass by, knowing within our hearts that our best years are behind us."

"Dear _God,_ do you need a drink!" said Jefferson fervently. "Come on, Gold. Quit working. There's a bottle of terrible whisky with your name on it."

"Maybe the wine's better," he sighed, throwing the board wiper aside and picking up his case. Jefferson snorted.

"Wouldn't bet on it. Come on, man. Time's passing, as you just oh-so-cheerfully reminded me."

* * *

The wine was _not_ better, as it turned out, but he tried not to care all that much. The club was as dingy as ever, although looking around, Gold thought that the barman might have at least dusted at some point in the past week. He and Jefferson huddled in a dark corner, cradling their drinks and trying to stay out of the way of the small groups of students who milled here and there. Gold shrank back at one point, when he saw Belle and a few of her friends enter, but luckily she didn't see him, or if she did she didn't let on. He pulled further back into the shadows, watching her in quick, stolen glances as she leant against Ruby Lucas or chatted with Emma Swan. There were two others with them, Mary Blanchard arm-in-arm with her boyfriend and Aurora Aisling lagging behind, speaking intently into her phone every five minutes. Belle took a sip of her drink, sucking Coke through a straw. She looked tired. He wondered if she was sleeping as badly as he was.

"Gold." Jefferson's voice pulled his head back around, and he nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

"You okay?" asked Jefferson, frowning. "And don't say 'fine', because I know you're not. What the hell's up?"

"Nothing," he sighed. He picked up a beermat and began carefully shredding it, giving his hands something to do.

"Don't give me that," said Jefferson flatly. "You've been in a stinking mood for weeks now. You're not sleeping, I can see that. Plus you're drinking alone in the evenings. I can _smell_ that." He wagged a disapproving finger, and Gold's mouth twisted. Jefferson smirked.

"You're scaring the students even more than usual," he added. "And you look as though you're likely to either kill someone or burst into tears." He lifted his glass and took a slurp. "I'd prefer the latter, for future reference. Less paperwork."

Gold peeled a strip from the damp, slightly sticky surface of the beer mat, dropping the curl of paper on the table, and Jefferson nudged him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were heartbroken," he said.

"Well, you know full well I don't _have_ a heart," said Gold dryly, and Jefferson chuckled.

"I know you _do_ ," he corrected. "I just know it's well-hidden, that's all. Despite what the students all say, I don't think you're an unfeeling bastard. I bet when you fall, you fall hard, am I right?"

Gold took a sip of his wine, wrinkling his nose a little.

"I fail to see why it should interest you," he said, and Jefferson tutted sadly.

"We're _sharing_ ," he said patiently. "It's what friends do. We buy more drinks and drown our respective sorrows, and in a couple of hours I'll be crying on your shoulder about Alejandro, my doomed holiday romance when I was seventeen."

"Please don't," said Gold dryly, taking another drink, but grinned a little as Jefferson shoved him.

"Come on! It's a great story! He was supposed to be training to be a priest! Forbidden desire and a tragic break-up!" He pressed a hand to his heart, and Gold winced, the summary hitting a little too close to home for his liking.

"Some other time, perhaps," he said, and Jefferson looked grumpy, turning back to his drink.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Don't say I'm never offering to entertain you."

"It would be a lie if ever I did," agreed Gold. "But I have every suspicion that you were an overly-dramatic teenager, and therefore prone to exaggerate."

"Well, that's fair," nodded Jefferson. "Love seems so much more intense when you're young, don't you find?"

"Teenage years were rather longer ago for me than for you," remarked Gold, and took a mouthful of wine large enough to make his eyes water.

"So, what's _your_ tragic tale of doomed love then?" asked Jefferson. "You must have one." He picked up his glass, watching him over the rim, and Gold felt a little like he were being interrogated.

"Well, what about you?" he asked, not answering the question. "Have you ever been in love? I don't mean your summer infatuation with whatever-his-name-was."

"Oh, dozens of times," said Jefferson carelessly, waving a hand. "Easy come, easy go. Never met anyone I wanted to settle down with, that's for sure."

"What about Regina?" asked Gold, with a grin, and Jefferson almost choked on his drink.

"Are you kidding? She'd eat me alive!"

He shrugged. "Well, perhaps you're into that."

Jefferson pulled a face. "Shut up. And don't think I didn't notice you trying to change the subject, either. We're gonna talk about this, whether you like it or not."

Gold sucked in his cheeks a little, his mouth flattening in distaste.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said coldly. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Bullshit," said Jefferson flatly. "Come on, Gold. You know you can tell me pretty much anything, and I won't give you a hard time."

Gold swallowed, looking over at the group of students again. Jefferson was looking at him inquiringly, and he hesitated.

"Do you have - regrets?" he asked, and Jefferson grinned.

"Shit, yes! Who doesn't? I regret not meeting you ten years ago, for one."

"Oh please!" snapped Gold. "I'm not in the mood for your ridiculous flirting!"

Jefferson cleared his throat and sat up straight, his face rearranged into a picture of penitence, and Gold sighed, secretly amused.

"Have you ever done something that you thought was the right thing to do, and then regretted it?" he asked, and Jefferson snorted.

"I've done a whole bunch of things I've regretted, but never something I thought was the right thing to do," he said, stirring his drink. "Give me an example."

"Never mind." Gold flicked his eyes over to the pool table, where the girls had congregated, Miss Blanchard having disappeared with Mr Nolan to a dark corner somewhere. Belle was taking her turn at the pool table, her skin shining in the light from overhead. A cold draught and bellowed laughter blew in through the open door, and a trio of the larger boys entered, jostling and shoving one another in the way they seemed to think would attract girls. Belle and the others appeared to roll their eyes as one and turn back to their game. Jefferson drained his glass and banged it down on the table, making him start.

"Another?" he asked, and Gold nodded absently, digging in his pocket for some money.

"I'm buying. Get whatever you want."

"Oh, I will." Jefferson wagged a finger at him. "And we're not leaving until you tell me what your problem is, okay?"

"Prepare for a long night then," said Gold dryly.

* * *

They sat in the bar for a couple of hours, and when Jefferson saw that he wasn't going to open up he changed the subject to lighter topics, but Gold really wasn't in the mood to be sociable. Belle seemed to be enjoying herself, laughing with her friends, and he wasn't sure if it was making him feel better or worse. Telling himself that he had no right to feel anything as far as she was concerned, he turned back to his wine with a grimace. The loud boys - the Gaston kid among them - had taken to annoying the girls at the pool table, and he was idly wondering if he should step in and say something. Jefferson followed his stare in time to see Emma elbow Gaston's friend Lefou in the stomach, which Gaston appeared to find hilarious.

"Yeah, I don't think we need to step in just yet," said Jefferson dryly. "That Miss Swan's a real firecracker."

"Good for her," said Gold, with feeling.

Ruby racked the pool balls again, Emma chalking the end of her cue. She was a good pool player, easily beating Belle and Ruby, despite the handicap of Mary, who was terrible. Aurora had been flitting around the room all night, and she trotted up to hug the others, clearly leaving. Perhaps Belle would leave too, and he could stop torturing himself. He winced as Aurora was the only one to pull on her coat, and turned back to Jefferson.

"I'm not much company tonight," he admitted. "I think I might call it a night. Sorry."

Jefferson shrugged. "No problem. Go home and spank your inner demon, or whatever it is you need to do, okay?"

"Is that a euphemism?" asked Gold, with a faint smile, and Jefferson grinned.

"You have a dirty mind," he said, taking a drink. "I've always liked that about you, Gold. See you Monday?"

"Have a good weekend." Gold shrugged on his overcoat, and threaded his way through the patrons of the bar, keeping out of Belle's line of sight.

The air was freezing when he stepped outside, but he felt like walking, the wine having made him a little thick-headed, so he set off along the dark backstreet on which the club sat. A noise from a nearby alley brought him up short.

"Would you let me go? I told you, I'm not interested!"

Gold frowned. A young, female voice. Aurora, perhaps.

"Come on, you don't mean that." Gary Gaston. Well, that couldn't be good.

"Gary, if you don't let me pass, I'll scream, I'm serious." She was scared, her voice high and warbling. Scared, and trying not to show it. Just like Belle, but less convincing.

"What for? We're just talking. How come I never see you with a guy? You frigid or something?"

"No, just gay," she said dryly, and Gold snorted. Idiot boy! He turned back towards the alley, cane clicking on the sidewalk.

"Maybe if you tried a real man, you'd change your mind."

There was a muffled scream, and he quickened his pace, rounding the corner. Gaston had Aurora pinned against the wall, a light of excitement in his eyes that Gold didn't like. He grabbed Gaston's shoulder and pulled hard, ripping him away from Aurora.

"Get your hands off her!" snarled Gold, and Gaston turned with a glare. Aurora was pressed against the wall, her eyes large and frightened, tears running down her cheeks. Gaston curled his lip.

"School's over, gramps," he said. "Beat it, before I put you down."

"I don't think so," said Gold quietly, and Gaston swung his thick arm, fist aimed at Gold's face. In answer, Gold stepped back smoothly, and Gaston overbalanced, stumbling a little. Aurora slipped from his grasp, running past Gold in floods of tears, and he let her go. Roaring in frustration, Gaston took another swing, and Gold slammed the cane up between his legs, making him drop like a stone. Smirking to himself, he grounded the cane once more and bent down, a part of him enjoying the groaning sounds coming from the body at his feet.

"Listen to me, dearie, and listen well," he hissed. "Touch any of those girls without their consent again, and I won't just hit you in the balls, do you understand? I'll cut the fuckers off."

"You're a fucking psycho!" choked Gaston, hands pressed between his legs. "My father's gonna have your ass for this!"

"Let him try!" snarled Gold. "You'll still be a fucking eunuch, do you hear me?"

"Mr Gold!" The sheriff's voice. "Step away from him. Right now!"

Gold straightened up, shaking with anger, and turned slowly to face Sheriff Humbert, who was unhooking the cuffs from his belt with a stern look on his face. He sighed, trying to steady his breathing and look more like a concerned citizen and less like a serial killer. Well, this was great. Just great. The perfect end to an evening.

* * *

Graham dealt with him in a calm, professional manner, not that Gold had expected anything else from the man, but he still ended up locked in one of the two cells that the sheriff's station boasted, and he sat down on the narrow bed and awaited his fate. Aurora had clearly run back to the club for help, because Jefferson was there almost immediately, shaking his head at Gold and making him feel mutinous.

"You want me to get you a lawyer?" asked Jefferson, and Gold sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"No, I'll do it," he said tiredly. "The sheriff didn't throw away the key, so I presume I'll be let out soon enough."

Jefferson shook his head slowly.

"What the hell happened, man?"

Gold pulled a face. "I was an idiot, that's what. Any other time I would have dealt with him with sarcasm and mild threats." He hesitated. "She was scared, crying - I guess - I guess it touched a nerve."

"Well, aren't you a gentleman?" remarked Jefferson, and rolled his eyes as Gold scowled. "Chill, for God's sake, I'm kidding! Clearly Aurora needed help, I'm just sorry it was left to you. Maybe if I'd left with you…"

He left it unsaid, but Gold nodded. Jefferson would have been able to talk the idiot boy around, stop the assault without further violence, deal with things in a mature way that wouldn't have resulted in him being arrested. Despite the threat to his position, however, he found that he wasn't in the least bit sorry for his actions.

Jefferson looked over his shoulder, then back at Gold.

"So, the person who committed the _actual_ assault didn't get arrested, then?" he said, and Gold scowled.

"Apparently I was more of a threat," he said sourly, and Jefferson snorted.

"Look, I'm happy to put in a good word for you, if it'll help…"

"I don't know if it'll make any difference," he said, hanging his head a little. "Regina isn't exactly my biggest fan, and if the charges stick…"

"They won't," Jefferson assured him. "There were witnesses, right?"

"There was Aurora," said Gold tersely. "I don't even know if she saw what happened, she ran off. Can't blame the girl for that." He shook his head. "You should go. No point in you hanging around here, I have no idea how long I'll be in here."

"I'll try and find out," said Jefferson. "Take care of yourself, man."

"I haven't given up hope just yet," said Gold dryly, but nodded his thanks. The sound of footsteps made him look up, and his eyes widened as he saw Belle's silhouette in the doorway. Jefferson followed the line of his stare, and straightened a little, a slight frown on his face.

"Maybe there was another witness after all," he remarked, and tapped the bars. "I'll see you later, Gold. Keep your chin up."

He hurried out, giving Belle an odd, searching look as he passed her. She walked into the room somewhat hesitantly, her hands clasped in front of her, face pale as milk above the dark wool of her coat, and he thought how beautiful she looked, her hair falling in shining curls around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed with the cold. She inched closer to the cell, one tiny step at a time, and his treacherous heart clenched at her closeness, at the remembrance of her touch. He wanted her to be closer, to reach out and touch him, just so he could feel the warmth of her skin. Just so he could breathe in her scent and lose himself in the memory of her.

Belle could feel her heart thudding against her ribs as she drew closer, and she came to a halt about three feet away. She shook her head slowly, and he looked at the floor, as though he were ashamed of himself.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, an almost fond resignation in her voice, and he shrugged.

"I have no idea," he said wearily. She took a step closer to the cell, and another, until she was touching the bars. He swallowed, looking away from her, eyes on the toes of his shoes, and she curled her fingers around the cool steel, watching the light shine on his hair.

"Aurora said to thank you," she said quietly. "She was kind of shaken up, but I think she'll be okay."

"Good." He still wouldn't look at her.

"Will you get into a lot of trouble?" she asked, and his mouth twisted.

"Perhaps. I don't know. i don't suppose Principal Mills will be too impressed, all things considered."

She swallowed, wanting to touch him, to stroke his hair. She pulled back a little before she could reach out.

"Will you have to leave?" she asked, and he sucked in his cheeks, finally turning his head to look at her.

"If I lose my job? Yes, I expect so. Storybrooke isn't exactly overburdened with teaching positions."

"Oh." She dropped her gaze, staring at his feet, at the way his suit pants flowed down his lower legs, the sharp crease running up over his knees, the fine wool hugging his thighs. He was looking terribly sad, his eyes shadowed and somehow desolate, and he fixed his gaze on a point somewhere to the right of her.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me," he whispered, and she bit her lip, fingers tightening on the bars.

"I didn't," she admitted. "I just - I didn't like the way we left things."

"No." He raised his head, glancing at her. "No, nor did I."

She looked at the ground, at the dull, tiled flooring. Perhaps it was better this way, separated by the door of the cell, unable to touch.

"You really hurt me," she whispered, and he squeezed his eyes shut, a pained expression on his face.

"I know," he breathed, and turned his head towards her, still not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry, Belle. Truly. I just - I wanted you to be happy."

"I _was_ happy," she said softly. "In spite of everything, I was happy. _You_ made me happy, don't you see that?"

He raised his head a little, eyes locking onto hers, and she closed her own, not ready for his gaze, not ready for that glimpse into his soul, afraid of what she would see. Afraid that the monster would still be there. She heard the rustle of his clothing, heard him getting up, and her eyes flickered open, staring down at his feet as they moved into view. She could see his hands, on the edge of her field of vision, reaching out to touch the bars either side of her, and it felt as though the world was closing in around her. She could smell his scent, feel his breath on her face, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to taste him, without the anger and the hurt and the despair that she had felt in their last encounter. Hesitantly, he moved one hand closer to her, long fingers curling around the steel bar, and she jerked back as though he had touched her, her breath quickening. He looked away, pain in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, and she took a deep breath, drawing herself up, stepping forwards again, until they were almost touching.

"I - don't want you to go," she said softly, and he gave a wry smirk.

"Really? I think it would be for the best, all things considered."

"I don't." She hesitated, raising her eyes uncertainly. "I meant what I said. I still mean it."

He was watching her steadily, his eyes dark in the shadows cast by the desk lamp, and she swallowed, wanting to touch his face, but keeping her hands on the bars, afraid to make that physical connection. Afraid he'd use it to hurt her again, to break down her walls before she was ready, before _he_ was ready.

"I love you," she whispered, and he closed his eyes as though he were in pain. She eyed him hungrily, watching the way the warm light gleamed on his cheekbones and his hair and the soft swell of his lower lip. He sighed, a long exhalation filled with sadness, with despair.

"Belle…" he breathed, and she shifted a little closer, inhaling his scent, her heart thumping in her chest, her breath coming hard.

"Do you - do you love me?" she asked softly, uncertainly, and he grimaced, his jaw working a little, fingers tightening on the bars.

"It's complicated," he said eventually, and she squeezed her eyes shut, raising her head to the ceiling briefly before she looked at him again.

"No," she said, her voice wobbling. "Actually, it really, _really_ isn't. It's kind of a yes or no answer. Do you love me?"

Gold surged forward, startling her, face pushing between the bars, his lips drawing back, revealing bared, white teeth and the gleam of gold.

" _Yes!"_ he hissed, his eyes flashing. "I love you, God help me! I think I've loved you from the very _start_! It changes nothing!"

"It changes _everything_!" she protested. "Don't you see that?"

He was staring at her, his breathing coming hard, his eyes bright with passion, with pain. She badly wanted to touch him, to stroke his hair, to run her thumb over the softness of his lip and kiss him hard. Swallowing hard, she tightened her grip on the bars, so she wouldn't be tempted, and after a moment he seemed to diminish, to pull back into himself, to flow back into the shadows within the cell. A part of her wanted to reach for him, to pull him back to her, back into the light, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, and her knuckles whitened around the bars of the cell.

"It changes everything," she repeated quietly. He didn't say anything, but he didn't contradict her either. There was silence for a moment. She waited for him to respond, but he remained silent, and she didn't have the energy to press the issue. She was beginning to realise that he wouldn't be pushed; his defences were too high, too strong, his self-esteem too low, and she would have to let him come to her. She sighed, and decided to change the subject.

"Aurora was still crying when I left," she said, stroking her fingers across the bars, not meeting his eyes. She could feel him watching her, though.

"And your other friends?" he asked. "Won't they wonder where you are?"

She shrugged. "I told them I was going to find out what had happened from the sheriff," she said. "Ruby wants to hug you, by the way, I thought I should warn you."

"How terrifying," he remarked dryly. "Thank goodness I'm safe in here."

Her mouth wobbled, a half-smile, and she finally looked at him, biting her lip uncertainly.

"Pretty crappy way to spend a birthday, all told," she admitted, and he gave her a brief, tired smile.

"Happy birthday, Belle," he said quietly, and she sighed.

"Maybe seventeen will be better than sixteen," she said, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I hope so," he said. "Although apparently wisdom doesn't come with age."

She smiled at that, ducking her head a little awkwardly.

Gold retreated further, lowering himself back down onto the cot. The atmosphere had changed, lightening a little, the dark heaviness born of grief and frustration somewhat lessened. He wanted to talk to her, to say more about how he felt, but he couldn't find the words, or indeed arrange his thoughts, so he remained silent, eyes on his hands. She couldn't seem to think of anything to say either, or perhaps she was waiting for him to speak. He stroked the handle of his cane awkwardly, tongue-tied and useless, and the sound of high-heeled shoes in the corridor outside made them both look around, as Regina swept into the room, a smirk on her face, which morphed into a puzzled frown as she took in Belle's presence.

"Miss French, what are you doing here?" she asked, and Belle blushed, stepping back from the cell.

"I came to thank Mr Gold," she said, lifting her chin as Regina looked her over. "Gaston was being an abusive jerk, and Aurora couldn't fight him off. Mr Gold didn't do anything wrong, he was just protecting her, that's all."

"He beat up a student with his own cane," said Regina dryly. "I'm expecting Mr Gaston's parents to be on the phone first thing in the morning, calling for his head on a spike."

"Well, maybe they should teach their idiot of a son to take no for an answer," snapped Belle, and Regina raised an eyebrow, a tiny, amused smirk on her face.

"As I understand it, he's saying that she came on to him," she said.

"Unlikely, given that she's a lesbian," said Belle tartly, and Regina looked surprised, but collected herself immediately, straightening her coat.

"You can go, Miss French," she said dismissively. "I'm not sure it's appropriate for you to be in here with a prisoner."

Belle exchanged a brief look with Gold, her gaze heated, and somehow he got the feeling that they weren't done talking. Regina cleared her throat, and Belle stomped out with a frustrated sigh, muttering.

Gold watched, as Regina walked slowly towards the cell, the smirk still on her face. She stopped a couple of feet away, and turned her head towards the door before looking back.

"She seems to have taken quite a shine to you," she said. "You should be careful."

"Yes, apparently I'm making all the best decisions right now," he said dryly, and Regina's smirk widened.

"Is what she said true?" she asked, and he nodded wearily.

"For what it's worth," he added, and she raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"Well, well, quite the Prince Charming, aren't we? Whoever would have thought it?"

He scowled, but managed to keep his mouth shut, and she pursed her lips.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I'll have Mrs Gaston on the phone to me first thing in the morning, ranting about how her precious, misunderstood baby couldn't possibly have done anything wrong," she said, running a lacquered fingernail up and down one of the bars. "She'll be calling for your head, Gold, I hope you know that."

"Ask me if I give a fuck," he said evenly, and her eyebrows jerked upwards in surprise. She shrugged a little, folding her arms.

"I understand the Sheriff plans on letting you out in the morning," she said. "So take my advice. Go home."

"What the hell else would I do?" he demanded, and she shook her head.

"Look, Gold, I don't know what the hell's going on with you, but I know there's something," she said. "You've been making students cry, reeking of booze, and frankly you look like crap. Take a holiday."

"I don't want a bloody holiday," he muttered, his tone mutinous, and she gave him a flat look.

"That wasn't a suggestion," she said. "You're officially suspended, pending an investigation, do you understand me?"

His mouth twisted, but he nodded, and she eyed him.

"I'll be conducting my own investigations, alongside the Sheriff's office," she added. "Perhaps you can get the lovely Miss French to speak up for you. Couldn't hurt."

"I don't want her involved," he said immediately, and her eyes narrowed.

"Why the hell not? She's a witness, isn't she?"

He sighed and looked at the floor, resting his head against the cool of the bars. He was too bloody tired for this.

"Yes. Fine. Whatever, just - is that everything?"

She was eyeing him with a slight frown, but nodded.

"For now. Get some rest, Gold."

"Unlikely," he said sourly, and she smirked again, turning on the toe of her patent leather shoe and stalking from the sheriff's office.

* * *

He was left alone with his own dark thoughts, but thankfully his solitude didn't last long. Graham had been in briefly to check up on him, and to inform him that there was no lasting damage to Gary Gaston's genitals, which only put him in a fouler mood. His next guest was somewhat more welcome.

"Good God, this place is _ghastly_!"

He looked up sharply at the sound of a familiar voice, and Carella walked into the office with a curl of her lip and a sway of her slim hips. She shook her head, looking him up and down.

"I leave you alone for _five minutes_ …" she complained, and he sighed.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked tiredly, and she rolled her eyes with an elaborate shrug.

"Bailing you out, loser! What did you think?"

He grunted. "Thank you."

"I'm only returning the favour, as I recall," she said dryly, and he chuckled.

"Ah yes. Atlantic City. I'd forgotten that."

"The correct response," she said ominously. "We never mention it again, understand?"

He tapped the side of his nose with a finger, grinning at her, and Graham entered the room, shooting Carella an extremely dry look as he did so. She grinned at him, batting her eyes in an attempt to look innocent, which failed spectacularly.

"I'm letting you out, Mr Gold," said Graham evenly, brandishing his keys. "Do you think you can manage to keep that cane to yourself from now on?"

"Provided the young men of Storybrooke can keep their hands to themselves," he muttered a little sulkily, and Carella snorted in approval. Graham sighed.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you to stay away from Mr Gaston and let the law take its course," he said, and Gold nodded.

"I'll behave," he said sourly, and flinched as Carella threw an arm around his shoulders.

"I'll keep him out of mischief, Sheriff!" she announced, and Graham allowed himself a smile.

"Well, thank goodness for that," he said wryly.

The street was empty when he left the sheriff's station, and Gold was glad of it. The last thing he felt equipped to deal with was a bunch of gawking strangers. Carella's car was parked outside, its sweeping curves gleaming in the light, and she waved a careless hand at it.

""Get in," she ordered, and he frowned at her.

"I can walk home," he said, and she huffed.

"You could, but you're not going home. You're staying with me and Ursula tonight. You need a decent drink and the company of friends."

"And in the absence of both…" he said, and she sighed.

"Don't be even more of an arsehole than usual! Get in or I'll make you. You know I could do it, short stuff, so don't try me!"

He chuckled at that, and sighed resignedly, climbing into the passenger seat and buckling up.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, things can only get better from here, right?**

 **Next time: Carella and Ursula talk sense, and Gold makes a decision.**


	18. Remembrance

**A/N: Thank you for all the lovely comments. I love writing this so much! Join me as these two life-ruiners inch towards some sort of reconciliation.**

* * *

The night air was so cold it took her breath away, and Belle pulled her coat around herself, pushing her chin into her scarf as she let the door to the sheriff's station close behind her. The sky was clear, the slush already freezing on the roads, and she picked her way carefully along the sidewalk, avoiding the flattened patches of ice as she made her way towards Granny's, towards what was now her home. Her mind was whirling, her emotions in turmoil, and she chewed her lip as she stalked along. Damn him! Damn that bloody man to _hell_! Frustrated, she stopped, stamping her foot a little as she turned to glare at the sheriff's station. Why was nothing ever straightforward with him? Okay, so he had admitted that he loved her, and the sound of those words in his mouth had thrilled her, but what would have been joyous only a few short weeks ago was instead darkened by fear, and insecurity, and the pain of past cruelty. She had not forgotten the deep wounds caused by his words, the scars he had left on her soul, despite him telling her he hadn't meant a single word of it. They still gnawed at her mind, still whispered in her ear and preyed on her thoughts. They still burned.

She was worried for him, though, for the possible charges of assault hanging over him. Despite the fact that he had acted in self-defence and to protect Aurora, she was aware that Gaston's parents were wealthy and influential, not to mention violently supportive of their obnoxious son. The possibility of Ms Mills bowing to pressure and firing him simply to keep the peace with them made her stomach clench with worry. For a moment she hesitated, poised on the balls of her feet, wondering if she should go back, if she should plead his case, if she should fight for him. The door to Granny's opening from behind her made her start, faint music and laughter drifting out on the cold air, and she looked around to see Leroy and Astrid, his arm thrown around her slim shoulders as they hurried away up the street. Astrid's giggles floated back, a light and pleasant sound, and when Belle turned back to the sheriff's station she could see Principal Mills walking out, face set in a thoughtful expression. Belle took a step forward, opening her mouth, but she had no idea what to say, and she sank back on her heels, watching Ms Mills as she got into her Mercedes and buckled up. Belle watched silently, and a little miserably, as she pulled away, and debated whether to go back into the station. She had no business there, however, and the sheriff was an intelligent man. Suspicion on his part would only make Gold more twitchy than he already was.

Sighing to herself, she turned away and walked to Granny's, the warm air welcome as she pushed open the door. Ruby, Emma and Mary looked up as she entered, and Ruby beckoned to her, turning to the bar to grab a glass of Coke.

"So?" asked Emma, flicking her hair back. "What happened to Gold?"

Belle hesitated. "He's locked up," she said, and there were angry growls from the girls.

"This is ridiculous!" declared Mary. "He saved Aurora from being groped…"

"Or worse," put in Ruby, and Mary nodded.

"Exactly. And _he's_ the one that gets locked up! How is that fair?"

Belle shrugged, nodding. "Principal Mills was there. I guess she'll be looking into it. He said he wouldn't be in there long."

"You talked to him?" said Ruby, interested. "What did he say?"

Belle shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of something he had said that she could repeat.

"He said he might have to leave Storybrooke, if she fires him," she said, and was somewhat gratified by the noises of protest from the others.

"That's bullshit!" said Emma fiercely. "Okay, I'm not saying I like the guy, but Gary started it!"

"We should talk to Principal Mills," suggested Mary. "We all spoke to Aurora, we know what happened."

"How is she?" asked Belle, and Ruby pulled a face.

"Gone home," she said gloomily. "She's still kind of shaken up. She was crying on the phone to her girlfriend."

"I think Gary may be getting a visit from Boston," added Emma, with a grin. "Apparently Mei-Ling's a bit of a hard-ass."

"Well, bloody good!" said Belle fervently, folding her arms across her chest. "Poor Aurora! She's the sweetest thing, and he's just an arsehole!"

"Agreed." Emma took a sip of her drink, sucking the last of the Coke through ice cubes, and twitched an eyebrow at Mary. "Shall we get going? I have a shit-ton of study to get through tomorrow."

The two girls left, after hugging Belle and Ruby, and Belle watched them go, stirring her drink absent-mindedly. Ruby nudged her.

"Want some cocoa?" she asked. "I know it's late, but I'm really not tired. We could have a slumber party."

"You mean we put out PJs on and talk until some ridiculous hour?" said Belle wryly, and shrugged. "Sure, I'm in."

* * *

Ruby made the cocoa, adding whipped cream, cinnamon and marshmallows, and Belle was soon wrapped in a fleecy blanket and curled on Ruby's bed with her feet tucked under her. She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug, breathing in the warm scent of spice. Ruby was watching her over the top of her mug.

"Did you see the doctor?" she asked, and Belle nodded.

"I'm getting the shot," she said. "I go tomorrow, actually. You were right, I guess it's one less thing to worry about." She blew on her cocoa, shrugging. "Even if I'm not planning on sleeping with anyone right now."

"Hmm." Ruby was silent for a moment. "You sure you don't want to talk about it? About - him?"

"About the other night, you mean?" Belle's expression was wry as she set her mug on the nightstand.

"No." Ruby reached for her hand, squeezing. "I mean about all of it." She hesitated, as though she was trying to work out what to say.

"You've had this secret - life, I guess," she went on. "It must be hard to deal with, especially now it's over." She looked Belle over. "Or is it?"

Belle bit her lip uncertainly. "I don't know," she admitted. "I think so, I _thought_ so, but I just don't know. He told me he loved me."

"Oh," said Ruby carefully, and put her head to the side, dark hair fanning out over her shoulder. "Is that a good thing?"

There was a moment of silence, Belle running her hand over the blanket as she considered her response.

"It's complicated," she said eventually, the fact that she was repeating Gold's own words not lost on her. Ruby remained silent, and she hesitated, wanting to speak, but unsure what to say.

"I wanted to hate him," she said. "I wanted it to be easy. It _should_ have been, but things are never bloody easy with him."

"What about you?" asked Ruby. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," admitted Belle, smiling briefly as she looked up. "I just - I don't know if I could trust him. The things he said…" She shook her head, looking away, and Ruby frowned.

"Yeah, what the hell was all that about, if he really loves you?" she demanded, and Belle rubbed her eye tiredly.

"He didn't mean any of it, that's the thing," she said dryly. "He broke my heart, pushed me away, and it was all lies. It was all for nothing. He said it was for my own good."

"Then he's a moron!" said Ruby, with feeling, and Belle chuckled.

"On that, we're agreed," she said, reaching for her cocoa again.

"So, forget him," said Ruby. "You already kicked his ass to the kerb, let him stay there."

"Yeah." Belle was silent, sipping at her cocoa, and Ruby watched her closely.

"Tell me about him," she said, and held up a hand as Belle looked alarmed. "I don't mean that you have to tell me who it is, just - what do you remember about - about why you were with him?"

Belle thought for a moment, a slight smile on her face.

"I remember the first time I saw him," she admitted. "It kind of made my heart clench, and I remember thinking 'uh-oh!' I never thought I'd - well, you know." She looked faintly embarrassed, and Ruby grinned.

Belle turned the mug around in her hands, picking out one of the marshmallows between finger and thumb and popping it into her mouth, a white smear of cream on her lower lip. She licked it off.

"I remember the way he made me feel," she added. "I just wanted to _forget_ , Rubes, what with Papa being so ill. i wanted to forget who I was for a while. That's how it started."

"And is that all it was?" asked Ruby. "A bit of escapism? It's totally okay if that's the case, you know. No one could blame you, when they look at what you've been through this year."

"No," said Belle slowly. "That's not it. Not after - I guess it was the third time. I knew it was more than that. I just - I didn't know things would get so _messy_."

"Why would you?" said Ruby gently, and Belle shrugged.

"He did," she said. "He kept telling me not to come over and I kept on doing it."

"So? He didn't have to sleep with you," said Ruby. Belle nodded, dropping her eyes.

"True," she sighed. "This whole thing is a nightmare."

Ruby drained her cup and put an arm around Belle's shoulders, tugging her close.

"What do you want to do?" she asked, and Belle shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "Part of me wants to talk to him, and part of me wants to just _shake_ him, or slap him, or something."

"Kind of want to kick him in the balls, personally," shrugged Ruby, and Belle giggled.

"The thought did cross my mind," she admitted. "I don't know, Rubes, I just - I wish I understood him. Nothing he does makes any sense to me."

"Welcome to the wonderful world of dating," said Ruby dryly. "We're talking about a guy here. It's like they're from a different planet." She put her head to the side again. "Would it help to talk to him? I'm a big fan of anything that makes your decision easier. Even if that means letting go of the good stuff you had and ending it forever."

Belle hesitated, turning the cup around in her hands.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know if I'm ready. How can I talk to him if I don't know what I want to say?"

"Maybe he's thinking the same thing," suggested Ruby, and she sighed.

"Maybe." She leant against her for a moment, resting her head on Ruby's shoulder. "Thanks for being here, Rubes. I don't know if he even has anyone he can talk to."

"There must be _someone_ ," said Ruby, hugging her. "Everyone has someone."

* * *

Carella drove extremely fast considering the icy weather, and Gold was surprised to make it to the house she shared with Ursula in one piece. Their home sat at the top of a cliff some miles out of Storybrooke, a modern, split-level construction of steel and glass with an excellent view of the ocean. There was a stiff breeze, and it caught Gold's hair as he got out of the car, making him shiver. Carella pushed the car door shut with a jerk of her hip and inclined her head, walking up the gravel driveway to the front door.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." A familiar voice made Gold roll his eyes, and he looked up to see a woman frowning at him, light from the hallway behind her making her dark skin gleam, her folded arms wrinkling her coffee-coloured silk shirt.

"Ursula, dear," he said pleasantly. "Still groping sharks, or whatever it is you do?"

"My specialism is cephalopods, asshole," she said dryly, and he grinned.

"Must have stood you in good stead for coping with grabby-hands Feinberg, here," he said, jerking his head at Carella, who snorted.

"Believe me, darling, she _wishes_ I had eight arms," she said, shifting her fur coat on her shoulders.

Ursula looked amused, one hand on the curve of her hip.

"Get your ass inside before we all freeze to death," she said, kissing Carella before twining their fingers together. Gold followed them inside, shutting the door behind himself.

The lounge was large, with a polished wooden floor and cream leather couches, a low table in chrome and glass set before them, and even a drinks bar in pale, polished wood set at the back. A fire burned in the wide hearth, and Gold took off his coat, draping it over the back of one of the couches.

"Drinks!" announced Carella. "I'm positively _gasping_!" She shrugged off her fur coat, revealing a silk camisole above leather pants, and began mixing drinks at the bar. Ursula lowered herself into the centre of the couch, and after a moment Gold sat next to her, laying his cane to the side.

"Cari tells me you're even more miserable than usual," said Ursula, and he pulled a face at her.

"She still hasn't forgiven me for the hangover she got last time she stayed over," he said. "I'm fine, I assure you."

"Don't listen to him, he's talking bollocks, as usual!" called Carella, and Gold sighed.

"I'm _fine_!" he insisted. "Alright, so I'm suspended. So what? It's not as though Regina will actually fire me. Whatever I may think about her, she's not one to put up with female students being molested by their peers."

"She suspended you?" said Ursula incredulously. "What the hell for? You stopped that poor girl getting groped!"

"By attacking another student," added Gold tiredly, and let his head roll back with a sigh. "She has to wait until the matter has been investigated, I understand that."

Carella handed him a glass with a large shot of whisky in it, and gave Ursula her vodka tonic.

"Stop trying to change the subject," she said over her shoulder as she went to fetch her own drink. "You know perfectly well that you were miserable as sin before that whole sorry mess occurred."

Gold's mouth flattened.

"That's in the past," he said coolly.

"Bullshit," said Ursula flatly. "I know we haven't been friends as long as you and Cari, but I can see you're not yourself. What the hell is it that's upset you?"

"He's heartbroken," offered Carella casually.

"Don't be ridiculous!" he snapped.

"Oh God, you are _so_ heartbroken," said Ursula, grinning. "Tell us about her, Rum. Tell us about the wondrous creature that finally managed to get past those ridiculous walls you throw up."

He took a drink, savouring the taste of the whisky as it traced smooth fire down his throat. Carella sat down next to Ursula, swinging around so that her legs stretched across both their laps. Gold looked down at them, a little amused, and she pointed slim, pale toes, the nails painted a deep red.

"I don't have walls," he said, not answering the question, and Carella snorted.

"No, darling, you have bloody _battlements_ ," she sniffed, and took a mouthful of gin and tonic. Gold scowled at her as Ursula chuckled, letting her hand rest on Carella's thigh, her thumb stroking. Their gentle, almost unconscious affection for each other, their need to be close, to touch one another, was making him feel inexplicably sad. Sad and lonely. He shook his head.

"Whatever your opinion of my social skills might be, the point is moot," he said. "I made a decision, and I need to stick with it."

"You spend too much time at that dive of a bar to make _any_ good decisions about your life," remarked Ursula. Gold curled his lip.

"What do you know about it?" he grumbled, and Ursula rolled her eyes, spreading her arms, ice cubes clinking in her glass as she gestured to the room.

"Does this look like a convent to you?" she demanded. "We _hear_ things. And from what we hear you've been going there a lot recently."

"Maybe the bar staff are hot," suggested Carella snidely, and Gold almost choked on his drink.

"Well, I can tell neither of you has had the pleasure of the ambience," he said dryly. "It's a dump. A dump that smells of stale urine and cheap perfume."

"So why go?" asked Carella, and he let his head roll back with a sigh.

"Because Jefferson thinks I need to get out of the house," he said, and hesitated. "And he's right, I suppose. If I'm there, I'm not sitting at home drinking and brooding."

Carella snorted and shoved at him with her foot, painted toenails shining.

"Would you just tell us what the bloody problem is before we beat you up?" she demanded, and he grimaced, turning his whisky glass between his fingertips and watching the amber liquid dance and swirl.

"The problem is I fucked up," he said simply. "The problem is...the problem is I should never have touched her. I should have been better than that. I didn't know…" He hesitated. "No, that's not true," he whispered. "I _did_ know. I knew what would happen. I felt it."

"Felt what?" asked Ursula, and he sighed, taking a drink.

"That I'd hurt her," he said quietly.

"Then why go there?" asked Carella curiously, and he shrugged.

"Because I'm a bastard," he said. "Because she's beautiful, and I wanted her, what else can I say?"

She was eyeing him shrewdly, tapping a fingertip against her glass.

"No," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, you _are_ a bastard at times, no question there, but I've known you a long time, Rum, and the other night was the first I've seen you cry over what you've done. You care about this woman, whoever she is."

"Yes," he said quietly.

She studied him for a moment, her eyes widening suddenly. "You love her," she said, surprised, and he sucked in his cheeks, looking down.

"Yes," he admitted.

"So what did you do?" asked Ursula, and rolled her eyes. "Oh God, let me guess: you got scared, and decided to call things off."

He shifted uncomfortably, and Carella frowned.

" _I'm_ guessing you were about as horrible as it's possible for a person to be in order to get her to leave, am I right?" she asked severely, and he winced. The two women groaned in unison.

"You moron!" protested Ursula, and he glared at her.

"It seemed like the logical solution at the time!" he snapped. "I didn't mean for it to hurt so much! I thought she'd move on. I thought…"

"You thought she didn't love you," sighed Carella, letting her head rest on Ursula's shoulder for a moment. "Oh Rum, you blind idiot! Have you no faith in yourself?"

"Well, why the hell would she?" he demanded, gesturing to himself. "She's a beautiful person, inside and out, and I'm…I'm..." He opened and closed his mouth, trying to think of a word that was repulsive enough.

"You're an idiot," said Carella frankly. "You're a stupid bloody idiot with the lowest bloody self-esteem I've ever met, and you need to stop letting it ruin your life. You're really quite attractive, you know."

Ursula nodded.

"You've got the wrong equipment from my perspective, but every girl appreciates a sharp suit," she added, and he snorted in amusement.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," he remarked, and Carella sighed.

"Well, whoever this mystery woman is, she certainly has her work cut out," she said. "Why don't you talk to her? Tell her you're a fucking idiot and you didn't mean a word of what you said."

"I did," he insisted. "Sort of, anyway. I didn't want her to be hurt anymore. It doesn't mean that I think we should get back together."

"But you love her," said Ursula patiently, as though he were being deliberately stupid. "Does she love you?"

He sighed, letting his head drop, his hair hiding his face a little.

"Yes," he said quietly. "At least, she said she did."

"But you don't believe her," said Carella, and he pulled a face, lower lip sliding up over his teeth, his jaw tightening.

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did," said Ursula bluntly. "'She said she did' suggests that you think she didn't mean it. In the name of all that's holy..." She shook her head in exasperation, looking to Carella for her input.

"Give yourself some credit," added Carella. "Give _her_ some credit, for pity's sake! Do you have any idea how insulting it is to accuse someone of lying about loving you?"

"That's not what I'm doing!" he protested, lifting a hand. They were staring at him, frowns on both their faces.

"That's what you're _suggesting_ ," said Ursula. "I'm amazed she hasn't kicked your skinny ass all the way to Boston."

"Yes, perhaps a _grovelling_ apology is necessary," mused Carella, and he scowled, knocking back his drink.

"Maybe I should just leave her be," he said quietly. "I've caused her enough pain."

"Yes, that sounds like an excellent plan!" announced Carella, poking him with her toes. "Let the love of your life go so both of you can be miserable forever! Bravo!" She raised her glass.

"You'll regret it until your dying day, and you'll always wonder 'what if', but hey, better that than actually having the courage to let someone in and maybe getting hurt, right?" added Ursula, ruffling his hair and making him glare at her.

"And then you can sit alone, in that ridiculously large house with all those beautiful things around you and no one to share them with, and congratulate yourself on doing _the right thing_ ," said Carella, nodding.

"Crying into your whisky and eating ramen," sang Ursula, waving her glass around.

"No, no, darling, he'd eat cold ravioli out of a can," whispered Carella, behind her hand, and Gold frowned at them both as they giggled and clinked glasses.

"What I did - I thought it was for her own good," he said coldly, and Ursula shrugged.

"Tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better," she said. "I think you're afraid she doesn't feel for you what you feel for her."

He sighed, grimacing, but their words were getting to him, piercing like needles, boring into him. Carella wriggled excitedly, tapping Ursula on the shoulder as though she'd just had an idea, and leant forward, a sly smile on her face as she caught his gaze.

"How was the sex?" she purred, a gleam in her eyes, and he groaned, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, we are _not_ talking about this!"

The two women cackled with laughter, and Ursula threw an arm around his shoulders.

"That good, huh?" she asked, amused. "Seriously, Rum, what the hell's wrong with you? You find a woman you love, who loves you back, who you have great sex with…"

"Mind-blowing," he corrected, muttering, and Carella snorted in amusement.

"Mind-blowing sex," continued Ursula. "And what do you do? You do your best to screw it up and push her away. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

"You don't understand," he sighed.

"We're still right, though," said Carella, swirling what was left of her gin and tonic in the glass. "You need to fix this. Even if you choose not to be together, it's a decision you both need to make. Not just one of you."

"I think I need another bloody drink," he grumbled, and she chortled, swinging her legs off them.

"Man after my own heart," she said, standing up and taking his glass. "Buckle up Gold, we're getting you drunk tonight! No wimping out!"

* * *

Belle spent a tense and somewhat depressing weekend clearing her house of its contents. She was pleased to have Granny, Ruby and Emma helping her, and was grateful that Granny dealt with the things she didn't feel that she had the strength for, such as packing up her father's clothes. Belle didn't want to set foot in his bedroom again, to have the loss of him cut deeper than it already had. A part of her knew that she was only delaying her grieving, but she knew what she could face. She wasn't ready to face that. Instead, she busied herself wrapping china and glassware in newspaper and packing it into boxes, and by Sunday evening the house was a hollow shell, its contents moved out to the garage. She walked slowly through the empty rooms, her footsteps echoing on the wooden floors, remembering the times they had shared, his laughter, her giggles, their tears. Returning to the new home she shared with Ruby and Granny was painful, as though something had been cut from her, leaving a deep wound in her soul. She shut herself in her room that night, and cried bitterly for the loss of her father, of the certainty of his love, of her old life.

More snow fell on Sunday, and by Monday morning the roads were icy, the snow churned up by tyres lying in greyish piles by the sidewalks. Belle was still a little subdued, but she felt better for crying, as though she had sloughed off some of the heavy grief that cloaked her, that hung in dark shreds around her and stole her breath away. Emma had turned up at Granny's for hot cocoa to drink on the way to school, and she and Belle waited outside, cradling their drinks as Ruby made her way out, balancing a paper bag carefully on one hand.

"What's that?" asked Emma, and Ruby flushed.

"A double chocolate muffin," she said, a little defensively, and Belle smirked.

"You're not thinking of bribing Principal Mills, surely?"

"Of course not!" she said indignantly. "I'm not even sure she likes our regular human food. It's for Mr Gold."

Emma burst out laughing while Belle blushed a little, shoving her chin into her scarf to hide it. Ruby frowned.

"What? He saved Aurora and whacked Gary in the balls! If you think that doesn't deserve one of Granny's muffins, I don't know what to say to you!"

"You don't even have class with him today," pointed out Emma, and Ruby shrugged.

"So? I can leave it on his desk or something. No big deal."

They made their way along the street, sipping at their drinks, the hot cocoa countering the freezing air.

"What are you guys doing for Christmas?" asked Emma, and Ruby sent her a warning look as Bele winced, the thought of Christmas without her father a sharp pain in her chest. Emma looked guilty.

"Sorry, Bellz," she said hastily. "I didn't mean - that was insensitive."

"It's fine, really," Belle assured her. "It's just - weird, that's all. I don't actually feel like doing too much." She looked at Ruby apologetically, and Ruby shook her head.

"We'll take it easy," she said gently. "We can help Granny with the turkey, and watch old movies, it'll be fun."

Belle gave her a grateful smile, and they trotted across the road to the school, dodging the flying slush sent up by a passing car. Other students bustled around them, and Belle felt a sudden, awful sensation, as though the world was crushing in around her. She stopped abruptly, taking deep breaths that didn't seem to fill her lungs, her heart thumping. Belle and Ruby looked back over their shoulders.

"You okay?" asked Ruby, neutral expression turning to concern. Belle nodded quickly, feeling stupid, but Ruby wasn't fooled.

"Are you sure you should be here?" she asked gently. "We could bring work home for you, you know. I'm sure Principal Mills wouldn't mind."

"I'm okay," said Belle, a little breathlessly. She had calmed somewhat, although her heart still thudded behind her ribs. She looked around a little anxiously, at the students walking past in twos and threes, not paying her any mind.

"Take it easy," said Emma, linking her arm through Belle's. She jerked her head at the school building. "We can stay out here until the bell rings for class, okay?"

Belle heaved a sigh of relief, letting her head rest against Emma's shoulder.

"Thanks you guys," she said. "I don't know what's up with me."

"It's clearly hanging around these assholes," said Emma loudly, as Gary Gaston and his friends passed. The girls glared at them, and Gaston smirked and nudged the others. Belle felt herself swell with rage, and air hissed through her nose, her nostrils flaring as her grip tightened on her cup of cocoa.

"Jerk," said Ruby, with feeling, glaring after him.

"Pity Gold didn't break his fingers," added Emma.

The sound of a motorcycle made them look around, and a large bike, all shining chrome and black, growled to a stop just outside the school gates. A girl got off the back of it, clad rather incongruously in a flared purple dress above thick tights in a lighter shade, and a knee-length fitted coat in black wool. She pulled off the helmet she was wearing, and Ruby waved as Aurora's face was revealed. She sent them a wobbly smile, and the second figure swung her leg over the bike's saddle, clad in leather pants and thick-soled boots.

"I'm guessing that's Mei-Ling," whispered Ruby.

Aurora's girlfriend took off her helmet, revealing a pretty face with dark hair pulled into a ponytail, and a grim look as she spoke to Aurora. Her eyes followed where Aurora pointed, and she seemed to square her jaw, setting her helmet down on the ground and marching towards where Gary Gaston was hooting with laughter and shoving at his friends. Mei-Ling tapped him calmly on the shoulder, and Belle clutched at Ruby's arm in anticipation as he turned, whereupon she punched him squarely in the face. Gary toppled backwards with a cry, his friends swearing loudly as he fell, and Mei-Ling nodded once, stalking back to Aurora and shaking her fingers out a little.

"Don't pinch me," said Ruby happily. "This is a dream, right? Aurora's girlfriend just broke his nose. Am I really awake?"

Belle and Emma giggled, falling into a hug, and Belle looked over Ruby's shoulder to see Aurora and Mei-Ling enjoying a passionate kiss by the gates, their bodies pressed together. The tightness in her chest, around her heart, loosened a little. Seeing two people in love made her smile, gave her hope, and at the same time made her desperately sad. She was in love, and could tell no one. Her frustration, her anger towards Gold, was growing with every breath she took.

"Come on," said Emma softly, and the girls pulled apart, making their slow way to class and smirking at Gary, who was holding his nose and trying to stop the bleeding.

"This is the best day ever!" announced Ruby, as they entered the school. "Now I just need to give Gold his muffin and tell him that Gary got his nose broken, and he didn't even have to smash it with the Cane of Awesomeness!"

"Excuse me, darlings." A slightly throaty, drawling voice made them jerk to the side, and a woman pushed past them, swathed in a fur coat, a large pair of sunglasses hiding her eyes.

"Carella?" said Belle curiously, and she turned with a wry expression, lips pursed as she lifted the glasses, looking somewhat worse for wear.

"I'm afraid it's Ms Feinberg here, darling," she drawled, flicking her blonde hair back and wincing slightly. "Can you be a dear and show me to the chemistry classroom?"

Belle wrinkled her brow. "What are you doing here?" she asked, and Carella shrugged.

"Your Mr Gold managed to get himself suspended, so your dear Principal called the only reputable chemistry teacher in the area," she said airily, and grinned, studying dark red fingernails. "I suppose 'reputable' is a relative term…"

"He's been _suspended_?" demanded Ruby, clutching the chocolate muffin to her chest, and Carella looked at her with a faintly surprised expression.

"Oh, don't worry darling, I daresay he'll be back before long, terrorising the students as he always has," she said, waving a hand.

"But that's not fair!" protested Emma. "He was rescuing our friend!"

"Whose girlfriend just broke her attacker's nose, by the way," added Ruby, and Carella grinned.

"Oh, I'm sure it'll all be sorted out," she said carelessly. "He always manages to come up smelling of roses somehow. Now, the chemistry classroom?"

"Second floor," said Belle. "Third door along."

"Thank you, darling," drawled Carella. "I'm afraid we may need to reschedule our lessons for a little later this week, if I'm to be teaching this rabble."

"That's okay," said Belle hurriedly. "I don't - I mean, I don't mind when it is."

Carella sniffed, hitching up her coat. "Marvellous. I'll give you a call at lunch," she announced briskly. "Toodle-pip!"

She waved at them as she sauntered off, and the girls watched her go.

"So, Regina got a replacement in," said Emma grimly. "Doesn't look good for Gold."

"Well, there's only this week before Christmas," ventured Belle. "I guess she'll establish the fact that Gary was a creep and she'll let him come back."

"Hmm." Emma held out her hand. "Hand it over, Rubes. No need to let that muffin go to waste!"

Ruby clutched the paper bag to her chest for a moment, pouting, but eventually sighed and handed it over to a grinning Emma.

"Come on," Ruby said despondently. "Let's go see Principal Mills."

They trudged up the staircase, jostled by running students, and for a moment Belle thought she was going to have to duck into a classroom to get away from the crowds. The corridor where the teachers kept their rooms was quiet, however, and she and Ruby stayed a little behind Emma as she marched up to the Principal's door and knocked firmly, tossing her hair back over her shoulders.

"Come in." Ms Mills' voice floated out through the door, and Emma grasped the handle, pushing open the door. Ruby and Belle trailed after her, and Ms Mills looked up from behind her desk with an expression of surprise.

"Miss Swan," she acknowledged, and arched a brow at Ruby and Belle. "Your bodyguards have accompanied you, I see. What are you doing here?"

"Why is Mr Gold suspended?" demanded Emma, folding her arms, and Ms Mills smirked a little.

"He assaulted a student," she said coolly. "I'm sure you understand that I need to look into this matter before he can be allowed back in the school."

"He assaulted a sex pest!" protested Ruby. "Gary was groping Aurora! You should be thanking Mr Gold, not punishing him!"

"Oh?" Ms Mills raised an eyebrow, laying her pen down on the pile of papers in front of her. "So you were there, were you Miss Lucas? Perhaps I ought to take a statement from you, then. Let me know _exactly_ what you saw." She picked up her pen again, and Ruby hesitated.

"Well, no, I didn't actually _see_ it..." she admitted, and Ms Mills smiled coldly.

"As I thought," she said evenly.

"Aurora told us what happened," ventured Belle. "She was really upset."

"I'll be speaking to her," Ms Mills said dismissively. "I'll be speaking to all of them. Now, I'm sure you three mean well, but how about you let the investigation take its course? I understand that Mr Gaston's nose is broken, after all."

"That was Aurora's girlfriend, not Gold," said Emma loudly.

"And good for her," added Ruby. Belle nodded vehemently, and Ms Mills looked momentarily amused, drumming her fingers on the desk.

"Well, I can see that Mr Gold has his own collection of Valkyries," she said dryly. "Who knows, perhaps he'll come out of this in one piece? Now, get to your classrooms, girls. I have nothing more to say."

Emma shared a frustrated look with the others, but Ms Mills had turned back to her papers, and she grumbled under her breath and gestured to them to leave. Belle sighed as she linked her arm through Ruby's. At least they had tried.

* * *

Belle had agreed to do the late shift at Granny's that night along with Ashley. Luckily, Monday nights tended to be fairly quiet, with only regulars such as Leroy and his friends along with the odd family group.

"Slow night for tips," said Ashley gloomily, leaning on the bar, and Belle patted her shoulder as she went through to the back to collect an order of burgers and fries for Leroy, Walter and Tom. When she came out with the tray in her hands, Gold was sliding into a seat at a table near the window, and she froze in place for a moment before Ashley swept up to him and proffered the menu with false cheeriness. Belle ducked her head a little, carrying the burgers to the men waiting for them with hungry looks, but she could feel his eyes on her, even as he ordered coffee in his usual quiet voice. She hurriedly served the burgers and fries and almost ran back to the kitchen, shutting the door behind her and catching her breath for a moment.

She spent the next hours or so in a state of restless agitation. Gold didn't speak to her, and didn't even seem to be looking at her, but she could still feel his presence, as though it called to her, as though she were a part of him. Thankfully Leroy and his friends kept her busy by ordering beers and nachos, but she could still sense him, sitting quietly in the seat by the window. It was a relief when she had to duck out to the bathroom.

She dried her hands with paper towels, patting her hair into place where wisps of it had snaked free, and pulled open the door, straightening the small apron she wore. Her eyes were on what she was doing, but a perfectly shining pair of black leather shoes invaded her field of vision, and instinctively she stopped, hands clenching and unclenching with nervousness. She could feel her heart start to thump as she let herself straighten, her gaze running up his legs, up the smooth, dark length of his cane, his hands folded over the handle. She swallowed, pulling her shoulders back and meeting his eyes. He still looked tired, and she wondered if he was worried over his future at the school.

"Hey," he said gently, and she remained silent. He worked his jaw a little, looking away awkwardly before turning back to her.

"How - how is your new job going?" he asked lamely, and she stared at him a little incredulously.

"Fine," she said curtly, folding her arms across her chest. She was trying to close herself off, to treat him with an icy indifference she didn't feel. But being rude made her feel uncomfortable, seventeen years of her parents' teachings ingrained in her, and she sighed, looking at the floor momentarily.

"How are you?" she asked, and he grimaced.

"Not so bad, all things considered," he admitted. "Still suspended. I expect Regina will hold that one over me as long as she can, just to prove a point."

"Oh." Belle shifted uncomfortably, her skin feeling too tight, a tingling sensation running through her. He was too close, but to take a step back would make her seem weak, afraid of him, and despite her anger and frustration, despite what he had done, what he had said, she didn't fear him. Not in that way. She chewed her lip, trying to think of something to say.

"We spoke to Principal Mills," she said suddenly. "Well, Ruby and Emma did most of the talking. Aurora spoke to her too, she said. I don't know that it'll do any good…" She trailed off, blushing, because he had raised his head, looking surprised and gratified.

"That's - unexpected," he said quietly. "And kind of you, too."

"Ruby was on her way to give you a muffin," added Belle, aware that she was now rambling, but unable to stop it. "Carella showed up - she's teaching chemistry now. Aurora's girlfriend turned up on her motorbike and broke Gary's nose."

Gold looked as though he was trying to hold in his amusement with difficulty, and Belle bit her tongue to shut herself up.

"Well, that's very - gratifying," he said diplomatically, and she sighed in frustration, partly with herself and partly with him.

"Did you - did you want something?" she asked uncomfortably.

He hesitated, his fingers stroking the cane handle reflexively, and she tried to keep her eyes on his face, to see if he would open up To see if he was lying to her.

"It's just - when you came to the sheriff's station," he began, and she rolled her eyes.

"I know what I said," she confirmed, her voice clipped. "I know what _you_ said. I also know that you said it didn't change anything."

"I - I was wrong," he said, his eyes pleading. "Of course it did."

She glared at him, feeling mutinous, and he tried to smile at her, as though he wanted to reassure her.

"I'd like to explain, if I can," he said gently. "Belle, I know what I did, how I hurt you. I want - I want to try to explain myself."

He reached for her then, fingers sliding across her palm, and she pulled away, sucking in her breath a little as she snatched her hand back.

"Don't do that," she whispered, and his jaw worked, his eyes squeezing shut, a pained expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and his eyes flickered open, meeting hers, shining dark and sorrowful in the lamplight. "I truly am, Belle. Sorry for everything."

She didn't know what to say, and apparently nor did he, for he let his hand fall to his side, bowing his head a little.

"I'll go," he said. "I…" His jaw tightened, and he turned his head away briefly, before looking back at her. "I won't bother you again."

He turned, his limp heavier, more pronounced, his shoulders slumping a little, and relief warred with concern in her breast, her heart thudding as she watched him go, as his fingers reached for the door handle, curling around it, the light shining on the old gold ring he wore. She remembered how his hands felt on her skin, in her hair, on her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks as he kissed her, and she had to speak.

"I'm not ready," she blurted, and he paused with the door ajar, the cold winter air stirring his hair. She chewed her lip anxiously as he turned slowly on his heel.

"I understand," he said quietly, and she shook her head.

"How can you?" she said, feeling awkward. "How can you understand it, when I don't?"

He nodded slightly, and there was a moment of silence, a tense, straining pressure in the air between them.

"Would you - tell me about it, perhaps?" he asked then, and she hesitated.

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe when I can find the words. Maybe when everything's not so - raw."

He nodded, a quick, sad smile lifting the corners of his mouth, and Belle jumped as the door to the diner banged open between them.

"Sorry, sister," grumbled Leroy, making for the men's room, and as he passed her Belle saw the door to the alley outside swish shut, Gold disappearing into the night like a wraith.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, so they're not quite there yet. They'll get there, I promise**

 **Next time: It's Christmas. Belle goes for an early morning run, and has an unexpected encounter**


	19. Reconciliation

**A/N: This would have been up sooner if people hadn't insisted on sitting next to me on the train (I can't write with an audience). Anyway, on we go. Last time, Carella and Ursula gave Gold a good talking-to, and he tried to speak to Belle and got the brush-off. Here's the next part.**

* * *

The school term drew to a close, and Gold had still heard nothing from Regina about the investigation of his assault on Gary Gaston. He had, however, heard from Graham. Aurora had given a full statement on how Gold had defended himself after Gary threw the first punch. Graham had informed him that all charges against him were dropped, and Gold had offered him a cold smile. He got the rest of the story from Jefferson, who came over on the last night of school to drink Gold's brandy and give him the latest news.

"I guess Regina didn't tell you that you're free to come back?" he said, and Gold shrugged, swilling brandy around his glass and sending up a warm, spicy scent.

"She seems to think I'll be desperate enough to come to her, pleading for my job," he said. "She has no idea that Carella and I are such good friends, and that I know full well that Carella's on honeymoon after New Year. Regina told her she wouldn't be needed, anyway. She's already made up her mind to get me back, so if she thinks I'm going to beg, she can think again."

"Well, you're right there," acknowledged Jefferson. "Are the two of you just gonna stare each other down until the night before term starts, or what?"

Gold sighed, taking a drink. "I'll ring her after New Year, if it'll make your life easier," he said, and Jefferson grinned.

"I don't know, she's kind of hot when she's frustrated with someone other than me," he said, with a wink, and Gold wrinkled his nose.

"Moving swiftly on…" he said dryly. "I take it the Gaston situation has been resolved to everyone's satisfaction?"

"Aurora didn't want to press charges against him," said Jefferson, and held up a hand as Gold scowled. "I know, I know! Her choice, of course, but I can't help thinking he'll pull the same stunt again. The kid's an asshole!"

"The kid's an entitled little shit with no respect for anyone," growled Gold, and Jefferson nodded agreement.

"Aurora seemed to think having his nose broken by a girl half his size in front of the entire school enough to keep him out of everyone's hair for a while," he said. "Not to mention she's a shy girl and didn't want the pressure of testifying."

"Well, I suppose I can understand that," sighed Gold, rubbing his eye tiredly. "And the boy?"

Jefferson shrugged. "He tried his dubious charms on Regina when she questioned him, hoping she wouldn't see past the puppy eyes and big smile. When that didn't work he lost his temper and called her a feminazi bitch."

Gold winced, sucking air through his teeth, and Jefferson nodded grimly.

"Yeah, it ended about as well as you could expect," he confirmed. "Regina suspended him, despite his parents' continued use of the phrases 'boys will be boys' and 'we'll take this to the Mayor'." He raised his glass. "Also he still has two black eyes and I doubt he'll ever get the kink out of his nose without rhinoplasty."

Smirking, Gold clinked his glass against Jefferson's, and they both drank. Jefferson's eyes closed as he let out a rumbling, contented noise at the taste of the brandy.

"Why doesn't it taste this good at my house?" he complained.

"Because you buy shit," said Gold brusquely, rolling the glass between his fingers, and Jefferson pulled a face at him, before relaxing back on the couch and stretching out his legs towards the fire. He let his head roll to the side, watching Gold.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" he asked.

"Catching up on some paperwork and drinking some excellent single malt," said Gold, with a slanting grin. "You?"

Jefferson grumbled. "I have to go see my dad, and hear about just how much of a disappointment I am," he sighed, and Gold winced.

"Sometimes family can be difficult," he acknowledged, and Jefferson nodded, taking a drink.

"My dad is...I don't want to use the word 'redneck'..." He trailed off, and winked at Gold. "That was pretty much it. I didn't _want_ to use that word, but it's the most accurate."

"Hmm." Gold raised his glass. "You don't take after him much, do you?"

"Which is exactly the problem," noted Jefferson. "I think he wanted a soldier or a cop for a son. Instead he got a flamboyant, bisexual art teacher. Makes for an interesting holiday season. Particularly if he's been drinking."

"So, I'll be having more fun than you, then," said Gold. "Don't forget the wedding."

"Are you kidding?" Jefferson snorted. "That's my ticket out of my dad's place. I want to kiss your friends for inviting me."

"They'll probably enjoy that," remarked Gold, then shrugged as he raised his glass again. "Carella will, anyway."

"Hmm." There was silence for a moment. Gold watched the flames, the jump and dance of light and shadow within the heart of the blaze.

"You okay?" asked Jefferson curiously, and he hesitated.

"Actually, yes," he admitted.

"You look better," announced Jefferson. "More sleep, less drunken self-pity. I like it."

Gold gave him a level look, but acknowledged the accuracy of the statement with a tilt of his head.

"I apologise for my recent behaviour," he said. "I imagine it seemed somewhat…"

"Bizarre," nodded Jefferson. "Depressing, self-loathing, overly sarcastic, occasionally violent…"

"Yes, _thank_ you," said Gold quellingly, and Jefferson grinned at him, but fell silent. Gold hesitated, still watching the fire.

"The past few months have been - difficult," he said carefully. "I made some bad decisions."

"So what changed?" asked Jefferson, and Gold was silent for a moment.

"I'm not sure," he said. "Carella and Ursula gave me a bit of a kick up the arse."

" _Really_ looking forward to meeting these two," grinned Jefferson, and Gold had to smile.

"A part of me wants to fix what was broken," he admitted, briefly scratching the side of his head. "But I think - I think a bigger part of me, the selfish part, just wants to be happy. I've been having this internal argument with myself ever since."

"It's not selfish to want to be happy," said Jefferson patiently. "Why don't you try being a little nicer to yourself, for once?"

"I don't know, decades of practice?" said Gold dryly, and took a swallow of brandy.

Jefferson shook his head.

"Well, I'm ordering you to at least be happy over the holidays," he said decidedly. "If I hear tales of how you spent Christmas Day drinking eggnog out of a carton in your underwear…" He wagged a finger, and Gold actually laughed, reaching for the brandy bottle.

"I'll try to keep my pants on, at least," he said, amused.

* * *

A fresh fall of snow marked the start of the festive season, and Belle joined Ruby for a morning run on Christmas Eve. The impending holiday filled her with dread; she couldn't stop thinking of her father, of how he had loved this time of year. He would bustle in late on Christmas Eve, after closing the florist's, singing away to himself as he stamped snow from his boots. She remembered how the house had been filled with festive music and coloured lights and the warm smell of gingerbread and cinnamon as she baked cookies. She remembered the way he would smile at her, sometimes catching her up for a spin around the kitchen, Belle with her hands covered in flour or powdered sugar, breathless with giggles. Now the house in which they had spent so many happy years stood dark and silent, a hollow, soulless shell that she barely recognised. They had passed it one morning, curtains drawn, a realtor's board on the front lawn and snow piled on the porch steps. Belle couldn't bear to look at it, and Ruby had seemed to sense her distress.

"We'll try a different route today," she suggested, as they laced their sneakers in the diner. "There are a couple of trails that wind off the main path that I've been thinking of exploring."

Belle agreed, subdued, but she felt a little better by the time they were halfway along the hiking trail, breath fogging outwards in the cold morning air.

"The trail splits off ahead," announced Ruby, a little breathlessly. Belle nodded, trying to save her energy for running. Ruby was taller than her, and faster, and although Belle was quickly getting back to her previous level of fitness, she was still not quite at Ruby's pace. She fell into a steady lope behind her friend as the narrow trail wound its way between tall pines, curling down a steep incline. It opened out onto a wide track, the snow not quite hiding the depressions of tyre-tracks, and Belle's brow crinkled as she felt a sudden familiarity with her surroundings.

Ruby crossed the track, still following the narrow trail, long legs carrying her over twisting roots and fallen pinecones, and Belle followed her down another incline, trying not to lose her footing. The steep hill was making her thigh muscles burn, and she was panting as she neared the bottom. Ruby skidded to a halt without warning and Belle ploughed into the back of her, grabbing for the trunk of a young maple to steady herself.

"Look at that!" said Ruby, surprise in her voice. "I had no idea there was anyone out here, did you?"

Trying to catch her breath, Belle peered around Ruby's shoulder, and felt her heart thump as she saw Gold's cabin in front of them. She looked around quickly, but could see no sign of the Cadillac, nor any smoke coming from the chimney. He was not there, and she felt her anxiousness lessen somewhat. Ruby trotted towards the cabin, mounting the porch.

"No one home," she said, looking through the windows. "Doesn't look as though anyone's been here recently, anyway. I wonder who owns it."

"Maybe it's a summer home," suggested Belle, keeping well back, and Ruby looked over her shoulder briefly.

"Maybe. A writer, or something. Writers like remote places, don't they?"

"Can we move on?" asked Belle awkwardly, rubbing her arms. "I'm getting cold."

"Oh! Sure!" Ruby jumped down off the porch and set off again along the trail. It wound around the edge of the lake, and once Belle could no longer see the cabin she felt better, her nervousness dissipating with each out-breath. She wondered if she would ever be okay with seeing the place, with remembering what they had done there that one night, how happy she had felt in his arms. She tamped down her feelings, squaring her jaw. If he was not there, it was likely that he wouldn't be there at all over the holidays. She made a deal with herself to run past the cabin again, to desensitise herself to his memory. It couldn't be more painful than what she was already feeling, after all.

* * *

Gold spent Christmas Eve sorting through some papers and packing a case. He had decided to spend the holidays up at the cabin, away from Storybrooke with its insufferably cheerful approach to the festive season. The build-up had been quite bad enough, and he thought that if he heard one more carol or obnoxiously loud rendition of _Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer_ he might just burst his own eardrum with a pen. He was looking forward to a few days of peace. He had packed some books to add to the collection already at the cabin, and included a couple of research papers that Carella had sent him. Zipping the small case, he carried it out to the car to join the box of food and drink he had purchased for the duration.

There was no new snow falling, and so the drive out to the cabin was relatively easy. He thought of Belle as he drove, images of her running through his mind. Some were more pleasant than others, but he made himself remember the pain as well as the sweetness, made himself remember what he had done to her. Carella and Ursula had gotten under his skin; their teasing but sincere support and their casual remarks about his lack of self-esteem and endless ability to fuck things up had played on his mind ever since. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to tell her, to try to explain himself. Perhaps she'd let him. It couldn't be easy for her, the first Christmas without her father. He imagined that she had loved the festive season; she seemed the sort to throw herself into it, and he had a sudden vision of her trimming the tree, perched on a chair so she could reach the top, her smile lighting up the room around her.

He blinked hard, shaking his head at his own imaginings, and turned off the main road onto the track that led up to the cabin. Here, at least, he could sit, and think, and plan what he would say. Perhaps if he had until New Year to come up with something, he wouldn't end up breaking her heart all over again. Perhaps, this time, he'd make the right decision.

* * *

It was a slow, liquid journey up out of sleep for Belle on Christmas morning. The room was still dark, her bed warm and soft, the blankets a cocooning, comfortable weight around her, and for a brief, wonderful moment it was as though none of the horrors of the past few months had happened. A tiny part of her brain, the part that still slept, dreamed of happy times, of times when she was at home with her father, with nothing to worry about but passing her classes. A time when she was safe. When she was loved. A muffled crash from downstairs and the sound of Granny cursing loudly jerked her rudely into full consciousness, and she flopped onto her back, heart thumping at the sudden noise. Granny's voice had quietened slightly, but she was still swearing like a trooper, and Belle lay for a moment with her hand resting lightly on her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her breath as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Still early, then.

She sighed, letting out a long, slow breath, calming herself as she stretched her legs a little, pointing her toes. Part of her wanted to stay in bed, but she knew that wasn't good for her. Following her father's passing - actually, if she was honest about it, following her break-up with Gold - she had wanted nothing more than to burrow down in the bedclothes and hibernate, to cradle her bleeding heart and cry until she was drained of tears, left thin and fragile. She had not been able to, what with her father and funeral arrangements and school, and she was oddly glad about that. Keeping busy, she thought, had kept her from shutting down completely, and she was not about to spend Christmas locked in her room, making Ruby and Granny feel awkward around her, when they had been kind enough to take her in and treat her like one of the family. Sighing to herself, but determined to keep going, she threw back the bedclothes and got up, digging out a sports bra and leggings. An early run would be just the thing to increase endorphins, empty her mind and help her face the day.

Once dressed, she trotted downstairs to see if Ruby was up, shrugging a fleece-lined jacket on over her long-sleeved vest. The diner was closed, of course, but Granny was already up and about, sweeping pieces of broken china up from the kitchen floor.

"That mangy tomcat from the alley got in," she announced. "Broke two of the plates trying to get back out again." She eyed Belle. "Merry Christmas, honey."

"Merry Christmas." The words came to her mouth automatically, though she felt anything but merry. Granny nodded, as though she understood.

"How about some breakfast?" she asked briskly. "Let me clear this up, and I can make you some chocolate chip pancakes."

"Oh, I don't want you doing anything too much," said Belle hastily, raising a hand. "I was going to go for a run, but I'll help with the turkey when I get back."

Granny smiled then, the light winking off the gold chain that swung from the arms of her glasses.

"Well, you wrap up if you're going out there," she said, with a severity Belle knew she didn't mean. "It snowed again last night, and I won't have you catching the flu, do you hear?"

"I won't," said Belle meekly, holding up her gloves. She zipped her jacket, and smiled at Granny. "I'll see if Ruby wants to come," she added, and Granny sniffed.

"Good luck with that," she said dryly, and Belle grinned, trotting up the stairs and knocking on Ruby's door. There was a muffled sound from within, which Belle took as an invitation to enter. The room was still dark, and Ruby pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around blearily, hair falling over her face.

"I'm going for a run," Belle announced, and Ruby groaned, falling back and pulling a pillow over her head.

"It's Christmas morning, you freak!" she groused, her words muffled. "I refuse to get up before ten-thirty!"

"Granny says she'll make chocolate chip pancakes," offered Belle, and Ruby made a noise like a cat being stepped on. Belle grinned, closing the door and making her way back downstairs. She pulled a red wool hat down over her ears, waved to Granny, and trotted out of the door, filling her lungs with the cold air.

The sun was rising, its brightness a muted glow behind layers of grey cloud as she jogged along the road, her feet squeaking slightly in the fresh snow. A set of footprints, accompanied by the meandering pawprints of a dog, were the only other indication that someone had been out of doors that morning, and she suspected that it was Dr Hopper walking his dog Pongo. She saw no one as she passed through town, and turned off onto the hiking trail, picking up the pace a little, her breath pluming outward in the freezing dawn.

* * *

Gold had woken early, having spent most of the evening trying unsuccessfully to read, and thinking about Belle. He was still unsure how to broach the subject with her, unsure if she'd even talk to him. She said that she loved him, but he was desperately afraid that he had destroyed her trust in him so completely that she wouldn't want to be with him. Sighing to himself, he folded his arms behind his head, lying in bed in the dim light of the coming dawn. Part of his mind, the part that still thought staying away would be the better thing for her, had told him in sanctimonious tones that what he had done would be the right thing in the end, but he no longer believed it. He craved her touch, her smile, the light she shone into the dark recesses of his soul. Most of all, he missed being held by her, the sweet scent of her hair in his nose and the taste of her on his lips. The feeling that, while he was in her arms, he was safe, and loved, and _home_.

He ran his hands over his face, breathing out through his nose with a hiss of air, then threw back the covers and got up, pulling on pants and a shirt and leaving the sleeves unbuttoned to flap around his wrists. He made himself a pot of coffee, carrying it out to the back porch to sit on the bench and look out over the lake. He had pulled on his overcoat and gloves, the morning air still very cold, a layer of ice having formed on the surface of the lake with a light covering of fresh snow. He liked the woods in winter, the way they were dark and silent, cloaked in snow and shadow, as though the trees themselves were hibernating until the first warm breath of spring. Birds were still around, though, and a crow hopped across the lake's frozen surface, eyeing him sharply before flying to a nearby pine tree.

He poured his coffee, opening the book he had been trying to read the previous evening, and had managed twenty pages or so before the rhythmic sound of footfalls made him look up. The flash of a red hat caught his eye, bobbing up and down as its wearer ran along the dirt path that circled the lake. For a brief moment, the runner's face was revealed through a screen of pine branches, and his heart leapt at Belle's pale beauty. She was alone, it seemed. Alone, and within reach. Perhaps now was the time. Perhaps she'd hear him out. He took a deep breath, drumming his fingers against his coffee cup before setting it aside. If she was taking the lakeside trail, she would pass near the cabin within a few minutes. He pushed himself to his feet, walking wearily around to the front of the cabin and out onto the hiking trail that branched off the slightly wider track strewn with pine needles. The trail snaked up through the trees and met up with the winding path popular with summer hikers. He grounded his cane between his feet, leather-clad gloves creaking as he tightened his grip and settled into his stance, and waited.

It seemed to take a long time before he heard the first, soft beats of her shoes on the frozen ground, the first rhythmic huffs of her breath in the cold air. She rounded the bend by an old pine that was leaning at an angle, its rough bark gathering snow and yellowing moss, and his heart jumped at the sight of her, the pale skin and the gentle flush in her cheeks, the contrast of her dark hair and blue eyes wide in her face. Her lips parted as she saw him, and she slowed to a stop, hands falling to her sides, fingers opening and closing uncertainly.

"Belle," he said quietly, and she looked around, as though someone would appear and save her. It made him feel guilty, but she seemed to stiffen, squaring her jaw and lifting her chin as she turned to face him.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Do we?" she asked flatly.

"Yes." He waited for her to say something, and when she didn't, when she just stood there watching him warily, he lifted a hand, fingers spread.

"Will you come down to the cabin?" he asked, and she sighed, rubbing a hand across her face.

"It always seems to end badly when you open your mouth," she remarked. "I'm not sure I can bear it right now."

"Please," he said calmly, and she looked at the ground, chewing her lip uncertainly before raising her head.

"Okay."

He nodded, and turned away, making his way carefully down the steep trail with his hand pressing against the tree trunks for more balance. He could hear her following, and managed to get down to the cabin without falling on his face, for which he was thankful. The cabin was warm, the fire burning merrily, and he took off his coat and gloves and put some more wood on to keep the blaze going. Belle had taken off her hat and the light jacket she wore, revealing a thin, long-sleeved top in royal blue. She was pacing back and forth across the wooden floor, pulling off her gloves and sending them to join her other things. He watched her for a moment, hands on her hips and head down, her teeth tugging nervously at her lower lip. Her cheeks were flushed, though whether from her run, or the warmth of the cabin, he couldn't tell. She looked beautiful, and he tried not to stare.

Belle could feel his eyes on her, but he didn't touch her, or come near her, and she wasn't sure if she wanted him to or not. Being in the cabin flooded her head with memories of him, of his touch, of the look of adoration in his eyes, of how he had said she was his. But then she thought of other, less pleasant things, and the pain was there, all over again. Frustrated, she whirled on her toes to face him.

"Well?" she demanded, and he blinked at her.

"I - I thought we should talk," he began. "In the diner - I know you said you weren't ready…"

"I wasn't," she muttered. "Not then. I couldn't…"

"No." He let his head drop, as though he were ashamed. "I had no right to ask."

"It's okay," she said awkwardly. "I wasn't ready then. But I've been thinking a lot about what happened. About what you said."

His jaw worked, his face twisting uncomfortably.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Truly, Belle. I took no pleasure from hurting you, believe me."

"I do believe you," she said gently. "But you _did_ hurt me. I don't think - I don't think _anything_ has ever hurt as much as what you did."

His eyes closed in pain, and she shook her head.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?" she whispered. "If you really didn't want to be with me anymore, you could have just told me. It would have hurt less, you know."

"It would have been a lie," he said quietly, and her eyes widened.

"Oh, you mean as opposed to that big old _bunch_ of lies you told me?" she said incredulously, and he winced.

"I'd like to be honest with you now, if you'll hear me," he offered.

"Well, wouldn't that make a pleasant change?" she said sarcastically, and spun away from him. There was silence for a moment, and she heard him sigh.

"You were right," he said quietly. "What you said. That - that night you came over."

 _The night of Papa's funeral._ Belle felt a stab of pain in her chest, its bright agony sullied by her own shame. She shouldn't have gone over that night. It had only made things worse.

"Right about what?" she asked wearily.

"About me."

She turned slowly. His eyes pleaded with her, and she took a tiny step closer. He put a hand to his chest, over his heart, his fingers wrinkling the dark blue silk.

"I am a coward," he admitted. "I've spent my entire life pushing people away because I thought it was easier that way. Less painful."

Belle swallowed. "You didn't push me away, Rum," she said softly. "You put your hand in my chest and ripped my heart out."

He grimaced, pain in his eyes, his knuckles tightening on the cane handle.

"Why did you do it?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Was it really all for me? For my own good?"

He smiled bitterly, his jaw tightening, and shook his head.

"No," he rasped. "I told myself that was the reason, but it was a partial truth at best."

"Then why?" She heard the edge in her voice, almost a whine, and he looked upset, pulling his lips in over his teeth before looking at her.

"Because I love you," he whispered. "I love you with all I have in me."

She shook her head, confused. "I don't understand."

"You don't - belong - with me," he said, pressing the hand to his chest. "You're everything that's good, and clean, and light. Don't you see?"

She could feel herself getting upset, and she wasn't sure if it was over what he'd done, or because of the low opinion he seemed to have of himself.

"The way you talk about yourself," she said. "You make it sound as though you're the most despicable creature on the planet."

His lips quirked. "Sometimes it feels that way."

"So that's why?" she asked gently. "You did it for my own good, because you didn't think you deserved me? You didn't think I could love you?"

He hesitated, but she could see that she had hit upon something, and she sighed in exasperation.

"I _told_ you that I loved you, Rum," she said softly. "And before that, way before you broke my heart, I _showed_ you. I showed you right here, in front of this fire." She gestured to the crackling flames behind him. "Why wouldn't you let me in? Why did you push me away?"

"Because I didn't believe it," he whispered. "I didn't think - I didn't think it was real."

She swallowed hard, a lump in her throat, a dull pain in her chest.

"You thought I was lying?" she asked thickly, and he shook his head.

"I thought you were mistaken," he said simply, and she felt her mouth twist, her frustration growing again.

"You thought I didn't know my own mind, is that it?" she demanded, and he looked uncomfortable, scuffing with the toe of his shoe at a knot of wood in the floorboard.

"I thought, perhaps, that the fact that I gave you pleasure…"

Belle threw up her hands, rolling her eyes.

"You thought a bunch of orgasms made me _think_ I was in love with you?" she snapped. "What the actual _hell_? Could you be any _more_ insulting and dismissive?" She waved her hand. "Actually, don't answer that, I already know. I remember."

He hung his head, and she sighed in frustration.

"Why are you so...so..?"

"Stupid?" he finished.

"Yeah," she said lamely, and he smiled briefly.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer for that."

There was silence. She listened to the crackle and snap of wood in the fire, and watched the flickering light gleam on his hair, on his cheekbones, his eyes a little shadowed. He was watching her calmly, dark eyes fixed on hers, and she turned away, walking around him towards the fire. She leant on the mantle, letting the heat soak into the tired muscles of her legs.

"What do you feel for me, Rum?" she asked softly, not looking at him. She heard him move, the gentle rustle of his clothes, the tap of his cane. He had stepped nearer, and she felt her pulse quicken.

"I love you," he whispered. "I always have. I'm sorry I hurt you, Belle. I'm sorry that I got things so, so wrong. If I could take it back, I would, I swear. I don't ever want you to be hurt."

She pushed away from the mantle a little, straightening up and turning to face him. He was closer, but still out of reach. He looked desperately sad, and she wanted to touch him, to reassure him. She wasn't sure that she was ready for that, so she tried words instead.

"I love you, too," she said quietly. "But I don't know if I can forgive you."

He looked devastated, and dropped his eyes, focusing on a point at her feet as he swallowed hard.

"I don't blame you," he said, his voice cracking a little. "I'll never forgive myself."

Belle felt her eyes sting, tears forming. She blinked rapidly.

"What do you want from me?" she asked gently. "Why ask me here?"

"To try to explain." He was still looking at the floor. "To apologise. I hoped - I hoped it might make things easier for you. And for myself, I admit that. To ease my conscience a little."

"I wanted to hate you," she said. " _That_ would have been easier."

He looked up with a wry smile, and her heart clenched to see tears in his eyes.

"I don't think you have a hateful bone in your body," he said gently. "And I'm glad. I don't just say that from the standpoint of self-preservation. Hate…" He pulled a face, his eyes getting a sudden, far-off look. "It - it eats you up, Belle. Consumes you."

"And love?" she asked softly, and he looked away momentarily.

"Apparently that's just really fucking painful," he said, with the ghost of a smile, and she let out a giggle, surprising herself. She clapped a hand to her mouth, cutting off the brief sound of amusement, and his smile became brittle, his mouth twitching.

"What changed your mind?" she asked then. "Why talk to me now?"

He hesitated. "I was - shown the error of my ways," he admitted. "Some friends of mine. Made me think of what's important in life. That some things are worth the risk. Worth the pain."

She swallowed hard, her heart thumping. "What - what are you saying?"

He looked down, concentrating on his fingers on the cane handle, sucking in his cheeks a little, as though he were steeling himself. He looked up sharply, fixing her with his eyes.

"I'm saying that I love you," he whispered. "That you make me want to be a better man. That I want to - to be with you. If - if you'll have me."

She could feel her chest rising and falling with her quickening breath, tears welling in her eyes, and he grimaced, raising a hand and letting it fall uselessly. His eyes were wide, pleading with her, and she swallowed again.

"I know I have no right to ask," he went on. "Not after what I did. I know you might not be ready, Belle. I know you might _never_ be ready, but I - I'd wait, I swear. As long as it took."

Her lip wobbled, and she caught it between her teeth, trying to hold herself together.

"You want to be with me?" she asked. "Properly? No lies, no - no guilt?"

"No lies," he confirmed. "The guilt…" He shrugged. "That's something of a work in progress, I'm afraid."

She nodded slowly, trying to gather her thoughts, trying to think rationally, when all she wanted to do was fall into his arms. She focused on why they were having this conversation in the first place, on the hurt she still felt, on the pain she had been through. God, it was all so _messy_! They had so much to talk through...

"I still haven't forgiven you," she said, and he looked down, seeming to sag a little, leaning heavily on his cane.

"I know." It was barely a whisper.

"And you really need to work on that non-existent self-esteem of yours," she added, and his mouth quirked in a tiny, self-deprecating smile.

"Even more of a work in progress," he said dryly.

"But I don't want to wait," she finished, and he looked up sharply. Tears had tracked down his cheeks, one tiny droplet making its slow way over his jaw, and she wanted to reach out to him, to brush it away.

"I love you so much," she said softly. "And I know that it's all screwed up, and we have a lot that we need to talk about, but I can't think about that right now. Today - today is painful enough for me without going over all of that."

He nodded, looking away as he swallowed hard. Fresh tears spilled over, running down his cheeks, and she felt her own tears fall in response.

"I understand," he said quietly. "Some other time. After the holidays, perhaps, or…"

"You _don't_ understand, damn you!" she insisted. "I don't want to _talk_ , Rum, don't you see? I want - I want you to kiss me."

He looked back at her, his mouth falling open a little, and she felt her heart break a little at the tiny spark of hope in his eyes, at the way his lower lip trembled. He tried to smile at her, but his mouth wouldn't quite make it, and instead his lips flattened into a tearful grimace. Hesitantly, he rocked back and forth on his toes a little, as though he were unsure whether he should approach her, but then he took a tiny step forward, and she did the same. Another halting, shuffling step, until they were almost touching. She could feel his breath on her face, and he reached up with one hand, brushing the tears from her cheeks.

"Oh, sweetheart!" he breathed, and she leant into his touch. He let his cane fall, so that he could use both hands to touch her, and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight against him. Belle relaxed into him, her own arms sliding around him as she breathed in his scent, the feel of him a comfortable, familiar pressure against her body as her head tucked under his chin. He was breathing deeply, the sound a little ragged in his chest, the rhythmic thud of his heart close by her ear, and she closed her eyes, more tears falling, dark spots on the blue silk.

"I missed you, Belle," he whispered. "God, how I've missed you!"

He pulled back a little, releasing her, and Belle straightened up somewhat reluctantly, loosening her grip, her fingers resting at his waist. He smiled down at her a little tentatively, sliding his hands up her arms and cupping her cheeks, and she reached up, her hands sliding into his hair and brushing it back. He was looking at her as though he was unsure whether she was real, and she tried to smile at him, watching the way the firelight shone on the wet streaks on his face. Cradling her face in his hands, he pressed a gentle kiss to her brow, and she bit back a sob, the knot of tension in her chest loosening, the tightness in her limbs softening. He kissed her eyelids one by one, his touch reverent, his lips soft as petals, and she heaved a shuddering breath as he gently kissed her cheeks. She wanted to kiss him back, to press her mouth to his and taste the salt of his tears, but she simply stood with her fingers still twined in his hair, eyes closed as he pressed his forehead against hers, a cool huff of air through his nose. His thumbs brushed over her damp cheeks, her full lips, and she flicked her eyes open to look into his own as he straightened up. He had that same sorrowful look on his face, an anguished set to his mouth, and she stroked his hair, brushing his cheeks with her fingers, her thumb steadying his trembling lip.

"Kiss me," she said softly, and he bent his head, the movement hesitant, his breath warm against her lips before his mouth touched hers. She closed her eyes, humming in pleasure at the feel of him, his lips soft and yielding. His hands shifted slightly, fingertips dipping beneath her jawline, and he gently parted her lips with his tongue, sliding in slowly. She opened for him, her tongue stroking against his, and he groaned in pleasure, his hands sliding into her hair and making her shiver. Belle pushed herself against him, letting her hands slide down his arms and around his waist as the kiss deepened, and she could feel fresh tears sting her eyes as she tugged him closer.

It felt so good to kiss him again, so _right_ , as easy as breathing, and she melted into him as his arms tightened around her, his tongue stroking hers, his lips soft and warm. She could feel him, the hard length of him pressed against her belly, and she wanted him, wanted him naked and on her and deep, deep inside her. She wanted to feel him come, to hear him groan, to shatter around him, to scream her pleasure once more. Excited by the thought of it, she slid her hands up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the silk, the tight buds of his nipples beneath her palms, and he gasped into her mouth as her fingers found his buttons. He broke the kiss, shaking his head as she pulled them open.

"We can't, not now," he whispered. "No protection, Belle."

She smiled then, nuzzling her nose against his.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "I got a birth control shot. We're safe." She kissed him again, his mouth hot and wet against hers, and pushed the silk from his shoulders, exposing the lean planes of his chest and stomach as it fell to the floor. Sighing in contentment, she trailed her lips down his neck and across the top of his chest, breathing in the scent of him, remembering him.

"Are you…" He cut off with a moan as she sucked at one of his nipples. "Are you sure?"

She trailed her lips back up his chest and neck, pressing a long, soft kiss to his mouth before settling back on her toes and looking up at him solemnly, brushing his hair back from his face.

"I'm sure," she said gently. "Take me to bed, Rum."

He sighed, dropping his eyes, and for a moment she thought he was going to reject her. He loosened his grip, rubbing her back with the flat of his hands before stroking her hair, a wistful look on his face. He wanted her, she could tell, but he was doubting himself again. She wanted to find whoever was responsible for his self-loathing and _slap_ them! His fingertips danced across the smooth curve of her cheek, and he smiled sadly.

"It won't fix anything, Belle," he whispered. "You know that."

She let her hands rest against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his breath, feeling the heat of his skin beneath her palms.

"I know," she admitted. "But it - it might at least start putting us back together. I'd rather be a pile of fragments on the floor than shattered into dust and thrown to the winds."

He looked pained. "Is that truly how you felt? What I did to you?"

He looked as though he wanted to cry again, and he brushed her cheek tenderly, his eyes still brimming with tears. She nuzzled his hand, and then covered it with her own, pressing his palm to her face momentarily before twining her fingers through his and letting their hands drop. Stepping backwards, she caught his eyes with hers.

"Later," she whispered. "We'll talk about it later."

He stared at her for a moment, and nodded. "Later."

Belle smiled, in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, and gently tugged his hand.

"Come on," she said softly, and pulled him towards the bedroom. He followed her, one hand out to steady himself against the wall, and she turned and slipped under his arm, supporting him as they walked together towards the bed. Belle put her arm around his waist, turning around his body until she was facing him once more, head tilted up, and he bent to kiss her.

"Oh, Belle!" he breathed, trailing his lips from her ear to her mouth. She clutched at him, hands sliding up his naked back to pull him closer. It was no good. She had to feel him properly. She pulled back, tugging her running vest over her head and fumbling at the back of her sports bra. He gazed at her with wide-eyed wonder as she threw her clothes aside, toeing off her sneakers and sitting on the bed to pull off her socks before bouncing back up and fumbling with the fastening of his pants, pushing them down over his hips as they fell to the bed.

Gold ran his hands slowly over her pale curves, remembering every beautiful inch of her skin, every place he had kissed. Every part of her he had tasted. He slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down and leaving her naked before him. He wanted to taste her again, to run his tongue from her toes to her ears, but she was pulling at his shoulders impatiently, and instead he pulled off his underwear, bending his head to take a small, perfect nipple between his lips, circling it with his tongue and making her moan and push herself up into him. His hands cupped her breasts as he tasted the salt of her skin. She smelt of cold, fresh air and her own scent, a faint hint of woodsmoke from the fire. He kissed his way across to the other breast, and Belle's fingers sank into his hair, her nails on his scalp making him shiver. He let her nipple slip from his mouth, wet and glistening with his saliva, and trailed his mouth up over her chest and neck.

"I love you, Belle," he said softly. "So, so much."

He pressed his brow to hers, and she cupped his cheek with her hand, her breath coming hard and hot, her face a little flushed.

"I love you too," she whispered. "Touch me, Rum."

He kissed her, her mouth hot and sweet as he reached down between her legs, his fingers sliding into her soft folds and finding slippery wetness there. She gasped into his mouth as he touched her, as his fingers slipped and slid, his thumb rubbing over her swollen clit. A finger eased inside her gently, and she moaned, pushing herself against his hand, making him hard against her leg, making him want to be inside her, buried deep, to feel her around him with nothing between them, and he broke the kiss, his lips trailing across to her ear

"I couldn't breathe without you," he whispered, as he pressed hot kisses to her throat, to her cheeks. "I couldn't _breathe_!"

Belle moaned, fingers twisting in his hair, and he withdrew his hand, reaching up to stroke over her face, the scent of her covering his fingers as his tongue moved against hers. His thumb slipped inside her mouth, warm and salty with the wet heat of her pleasure, and he let his tongue wrap around it to take in the taste of her essence. She kissed him back hungrily, sucking on his thumb, and he moaned into her mouth as she reached down between them to take him in hand, feeling her grip him firmly. He shifted his position a little, pressing up against her, Belle guiding him to where she wanted him. He could feel the soft wet flesh close around the head of his cock, and he pulled back a little, pushing himself up on his elbows to gaze down at her. She looked up at him solemnly, her thumb stroking over his cheeks, and he felt his eyes sting again, tears welling up and spilling over at the look in her eyes. Her thumb swiped across, spreading the drops that fell, and she gave him a tiny, encouraging smile even as her own tears formed.

Belle gazed up at him, wanting him so much it was almost painful. He was looking at her with reverence, tears brimming in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks, and she felt herself cry in response, her breath hitching in a sob as he slowly entered her. To feel him there again, to have him pressing down on her, pushing inside her, was incredible, and she arched her back, lifting her legs so that he could slide deeper. He began to move, slow and rhythmic, his lips finding hers, his hands sliding down her arms to thread their fingers together, lifting her arms above her head and pushing them down into the pillows as he thrust into her. Belle gasped into his mouth, and he released her hands, stroking over her cheeks again and into her hair as they kissed, as he moved. She clung to him, fingertips digging into his shoulders as she moved with him, and he pulled his mouth from hers, tugging her head back with his fingers to lick up the long length of her pale throat, nibbling along her jaw to her ear.

"So beautiful!" he whispered. "I love you, Belle. So much!"

She wanted to tell him that she loved him too, that she had missed him, but he was hitting her just right, her climax building, and she increased the pace a little, wanting to come, wanting him to feel it. She could hear the panting of her breath, the way her cheeks were flushed, sweat forming on her face and between her breasts, their bodies slick with her fluids where they joined, and she broke with a cry, ecstasy blinding her and making her pump her hips against his. He kissed her, as though he could taste her pleasure from it, his lips loose and frantic, their mouths sliding against one another as she tried to catch her breath. Her entire body was tingling, and she wrapped her legs around his back, wanting him to come inside her, wanting to feel it. Gold quickened his pace, trailing his warm breath and liquid kisses across her mouth, her cheeks, her jaw, his hips rocking against hers. He was close, she could feel it, his muscles tensing and hardening, his cock thick and rigid inside her.

He pressed his forehead to hers, groaning deeply, and she felt him pulse inside her, felt his heat flood into her body as he thrust, her name light as air on his lips, whispering that he loved her. Tears leaked from his eyes again, and she reached up to kiss him, the taste of salt on his lips as her fingers pushed through his hair. Eventually he slowed to a stop, breathing heavily, and let himself fall down onto her with a deep, shuddering sigh, his head nestled between her breasts. She kissed the top of his head, letting her breath steady, breathing in the smell of him. His hair tickled her nose, and she began carding it with her hands, letting the soft strands slip through her fingers, watching threads of silver catch the light.

Gold tried to catch his breath, his eyes closed, comforted by the soft swell of her breasts against him, her familiar scent. She was stroking his hair, fingers combing through it in a rhythmic, gentle caress, and he never wanted to move from the bed. He wanted to tell the entire world to go fuck itself and stay in the cabin with Belle for the rest of his life. A ridiculous dream, of course, a pointless fantasy. They had so much to talk about, so much to discuss before she could begin to trust him again. He wanted her to, though. He didn't want to imagine a future without Belle in his life. Quite how they would accomplish that was something he was far less certain of, but for the moment he was content to lie in her arms. For the moment, he was hers, and she wanted him. For the moment, that was enough.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow, that was a long one! I didn't think I could rush it, though. The first steps towards healing have been taken.**

 **Next time: Belle tries to get Gold to open up and let her in.**


	20. Matrimony

**A/N: I know this is taking longer than many of you would like. It's taking longer than I would like, but I'm very busy at the moment :(**

 **Anyway, last time, Gold and Belle started to make things better.**

* * *

The room was warm, Gold a solid, pleasant weight on her chest, and Belle gently raked her fingers through his hair, listening to his breathing steady. She could feel him softening inside her, slipping from her, and a part of her wanted to keep him there, wanted to wrap her legs around his back and stop him from leaving the bed. In the end, though, it was she that moved first, shifting slightly and making him push himself up on his elbows. He looked down at her, hair all awry, a small, somewhat nervous smile on his face.

"Hey," he said gently, and she brushed his hair back.

"Hey," she whispered.

He pulled away, rolling onto his back and tugging her with him, and she settled against his side, enjoying his warmth. Now that they had finished, now that they had broken the ice, there was a nervousness growing inside her, a pulling and tightening that formed into a tense ball of iron in her stomach and made her heart flutter. She loved him, but she had not forgiven him, and despite their physical closeness, she was beginning to feel awkward. His hand stroked over her hip and snugged her around the waist, and she changed the subject in an attempt to distract herself.

"You don't have a Christmas tree," she remarked, and he smiled briefly.

"No. No tree, no tinsel, no hideous musical Santa Claus welcoming you inside."

"Well, I wouldn't want the last one," she acknowledged. "It's a shame not to have something to brighten the place up, though. Some candles and lights would be nice."

He continued to stroke her hip, not meeting her eyes.

"I expect you like Christmas," he said, and she hesitated.

"I did," she admitted. "I loved it. This year - it's painful, more than anything. To be honest I'm just trying to get through it."

"Yes," he said quietly, and she nestled her head against his chest a little, taking some small comfort from his warmth, his closeness.

"How come you were here, anyway?" she asked.

"Less likely to be disturbed by people wanting me to enjoy the holiday," he said sourly, and she nodded, her fingers stroking over the skin of his bare chest.

"I get that," she said quietly. "Kind of wanted to just stay in bed until New Year."

His mouth curved upwards in a lazy smile.

"That sounds perfect."

"I didn't mean it like _that_ ," she said, swatting him.

"I know. I'm teasing."

There was silence for a moment, and she nestled her head against his chest. He was stroking the top of her leg with a gentle thumb, and it felt nice.

"I should get back," she sighed reluctantly, and he turned onto his side to face her, stroking her hair back. His gaze was intent, his eyes roaming over her face as his fingertips gently brushed her cheeks, and the heat of his stare, the passion in it, almost made her blush.

"Will you come again?" he asked quietly, and she shrugged.

"If I can get away," she said uncertainly. "It's gonna be harder, now I'm living with Ruby. She's already suspicious."

He was still staring at her, his hand cupping her cheek, and he leant in to kiss her, his mouth opening her up to taste her. She slid an arm around his waist, moaning a little as she pulled him close, and when she broke the kiss her cheeks were flushed with pleasure.

"Okay," she sighed. "Now I _really_ need to go. Granny will wonder what happened to me. Don't want her sending out a search party."

"Of course." He loosed his arm, and she slid from the bed, scrabbling around for her clothes and trotting to the bathroom to clean herself up.

When she came back in he was fastening his pants, his shirt unbuttoned, skin warm in the light from the lamps. She stood there for a moment, unsure of herself, her fingers rubbing up and down her arm as he watched her. He seemed as nervous as she was, and she wasn't sure if that made her feel better or not.

"I'd - like to see you again," he said quietly. "When I said we need to talk, I meant it."

"I know." She picked up her jacket and shrugged it on. Her clothes were a little damp from the cold and her own perspiration, and she wasn't looking forward to the run back to town.

"I want to be as honest as I can with you, Belle," he added.

"As honest as you _can_?" she said flatly. "Well, that doesn't fill me with confidence."

He looked pained, hands on hips, staring at the floor.

"I didn't mean it that way," he said quietly, and she sighed.

"Well, I guess I didn't mean to _take_ it that way," she allowed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep digging at you, but it's - it's going to take a while."

"I understand." His voice was almost a whisper, his face saddened, and she took a step closer, wanting to touch him.

"I…" she said softly, and cut off as he looked up at her. She gave him a tiny smile.

"I do love you," she said. "I just - I just feel so _brittle_."

He nodded slowly, and reached out to her with shaking hands, his fingers closing over her hips and pulling her gently towards him. She leant against him with a sigh, willing to be comforted, and he kissed the top of her head.

"I'll be here when you want to talk," he said, and she looked up at him, her hands resting at his waist.

"Soon," she promised, and he bent his head to kiss her. She relaxed into him, opening her mouth, but the kiss was gentle rather than erotic, and he pulled back shortly afterwards, a smile brightening his eyes.

"I love you," he breathed, and she returned his smile, dropping back down on her heels.

"I'd better go," she said, pushing back from him. She hesitated at the door, then turned, looking back at him. His hair was hanging in his face, the first growth of stubble softening his jawline, and she felt the tug of desire again.

"Merry Christmas," she said awkwardly, and slipped out of the door before he could answer.

It took her less than an hour to get into town, and she picked up her speed when she hit the outskirts, so that she was gasping for breath by the time she reached Granny's. She paused at the gate, bent over with her hands on her knees, gulping the cold air, her lungs burning pleasantly and her leg muscles quivering. She had mulled over the events in the cabin as she ran, remembering his words to her, remembering that he wanted to be honest. She needed to find out what was at the root of his crushing self-doubt, his refusal to believe that he was worth loving, but she had a feeling that getting him to open up about it would be a slow and painful process.

Ruby was awake when she went inside, but still in her PJs, a bright, excited smile on her face. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Belle couldn't help smiling along with her as Ruby clasped her hands and spun her in a circle, singing _It's_ T _he Most Wonderful Time of The Year_ at the top of her voice. Granny came bustling out of the kitchen to tell her to keep the noise down, and Belle escaped to jump in the shower. Once clean and dressed, she went downstairs to sit by the twinkling tree and open presents with Granny and Ruby. She tried not to feel sad, remembering how Christmas had been the previous year, when her father's illness was just starting to make itself known, when they were still ignorant of what his prognosis was, and he was just sleeping a little longer than usual. She turned a small package over and over in her hands, chewing her lip, its bright ribbons catching on her nails.

"Are you okay?" Ruby was watching her anxiously, and Belle looked up with a start.

"Fine," she said quickly, and unwrapped the package hastily, smiling as a soft, deep blue cashmere scarf slithered out onto her lap.

"Let me get some hot cocoa for you girls," announced Granny, and heaved herself up out of a chair to go through to the kitchen. Belle wrapped the scarf around her neck, digging her chin into its soft warmth.

"That's really pretty," said Ruby. "Who bought it?"

"Granny." Belle picked a small package from under the tree and threw it to Ruby. "I think you may have one too."

Ruby tore the paper in her excitement, and a red scarf fell out, which she promptly wound around her slim throat.

"How was your run?" she asked. "Sorry I didn't join you, it's just - well, I didn't want to."

"Understood," said Belle dryly, smiling a little at Ruby's utter lack of guilt. "It was - it was actually great. There was no one around, and it was nice to get out in the fresh air."

"I'll come with you tomorrow," promised Ruby, and Belle tried to look pleased. It looked as though getting out to see Gold again was going to prove difficult. Ruby picked up another gift, squeezing it with her hands.

"So," she said. "Are we going to this wedding, or not?"

"I guess," said Belle unenthusiastically. "Papa wanted me to go. Maybe I should."

"I'll totally be your plus-one," Ruby assured her. "And we can always call a cab, if it gets too much." She put her head to the side. "You have that green dress, anyway. It'd be a shame not to give it an airing."

Belle smiled. "Well, I suppose that's true," she admitted. "Okay, we'll go. It'll be fun, I guess."

Ruby grinned, throwing a brightly-coloured package to her before tearing into her own.

After presents, Belle helped with the turkey, keeping busy peeling potatoes and preparing the chestnut stuffing recipe that she had used for the past few years. Ruby's boundless enthusiasm was infectious, and Belle enjoyed herself more than she thought possible. It made her feel guilty, and then upset for feeling guilty, because she knew her father would only want her to be happy. She tried not to let her conflicting feelings show, and dutifully ate her dinner, under the sharp eye of Granny, who insisted on giving her second helpings of turkey and potatoes.

After dinner, they all slumped on the squashy couch in front of the TV, and Granny dozed as Belle and Ruby watched old Christmas movies. On the whole, Belle reflected, as she lay in bed that evening, it could have been a lot worse. She rolled onto her side with a sigh, thinking anxiously about the wedding. Gold would be there, she supposed, and she wondered if she would get a chance to speak to him. It seemed there would be little opportunity to meet before then.

* * *

Two days after Christmas Day, Gold emerged from the cabin and drove into town to get some breakfast. He parked the Cadillac by the small church on the outskirts, and began walking into the centre of Storybrooke with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there for years. Belle was talking to him again. Belle loved him. Okay, she still hadn't forgiven him, but he didn't deserve her forgiveness anyway, and she might at least come to understand him a little better. The thought of being honest with her, _completely_ honest, was terrifying, but oddly liberating. He had no idea how she would react to the things he would tell her, but it felt good to _want_ to tell her. There still remained the matter of how they were going to make this illicit relationship work, of course, and he had been racking his brains to think of something, without success. Belle deserved to be happy, to be able to love and be loved in return, not to have to hide her feelings and sneak around. Belle didn't belong in the shadows.

His good mood was in danger of evaporating as he thought on the problems facing their relationship, so instead he concentrated on the world around him, trying to distract himself from dark thoughts. The sun was shining, its glare harsh on the perfect white of the new-fallen snow, and he was glad that he had thought to put on sunglasses. His breath misted out in the cold air, a scarf and his overcoat keeping the chill from him, and he made his way into town, his pace unhurried. It had been some time since he had taken a stroll, and while his leg might suffer for it later, it was good to be out in the open air. He nodded to Dr Hopper, who was walking his dog, muffled in a yellow scarf that clashed with his red hair.

"Mr Gold." Regina's voice pulled his head around, and he drew to a stop. She was smiling at him, her teeth bared in a grimace, and he wondered whether she was planning on making him beg for his job, He had already decided that he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.

"Ms Mills," he nodded, returning the smile. "How lovely to see you. I trust you're enjoying the holidays?"

Her smile faltered a little, her fingers tightening around the red leather strap of her bag.

"I expect you're wondering why I haven't called you," she said then, and he raised an eyebrow, flicking his hair back a little as he pressed a hand to his chest.

"Were you planning on asking me out on a date?" he asked innocently. "Well, I'm flattered, dearie, but uninterested."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she said sharply. "I'm talking about the fact that you were suspended!"

"Ah." He shrugged, studying his leather gloves for a moment before looking up at her. "Well, I'm aware that all charges against me were dropped, the Gaston boy showed his true colours, and it appears that informing me of those facts slipped your mind." He showed his teeth. "No doubt you've been busy with that hectic personal life of yours."

"Do you want your job back or not?" she snapped, eyes flashing, and he took a step forward.

"I'm not going to beg you, dear," he said calmly, smiling as she backed away a little. "We both know that all of this is one of your little power plays."

Regina frowned. "I had every reason to suspend you…" she began, and Gold nodded agreement.

"Indeed. But you had no reason to continue with it when the evidence proved me right," he said coldly. She glared at him, opening her mouth for an angry retort, but he straightened with a tiny sigh, lifting his chin, and met her eyes calmly.

"Ms Mills, I don't know why you took an instant dislike to me when I started working at that school," he said. "Perhaps you're afraid I'll take your job."

Regina rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt that," she said dryly. "Being the principal requires social skills. Something in which you are _highly_ deficient."

Gold grinned. "Then I fail to understand why you should feel threatened," he said mildly, and she scowled.

"I'm not threatened, Mr Gold," she said coldly. "I want your word that nothing like that will ever happen again."

"Gaston's parents giving you grief, dear?" he asked snidely. Regina pulled a face.

"They're - presenting some difficulties," she admitted. "I need to know the teaching staff are behind me on this one."

Gold sighed. "Then why didn't you just say that, instead of trying to bully me into falling in line?" he asked wearily. "And you accuse _me_ of having no social skills."

Regina was silent for a moment, and he raised his eyes to the heavens.

"Ms Mills, if I didn't give a shit about the education of those kids, you and I could dance around one another a little more, trying to see who blinks first," he said dryly. "But frankly, I couldn't be less interested in the political grandstanding of small town wannabes. You have my unwavering support against the fearsome Gaston family and their obnoxious country club friends, understand?"

"Well, good," said Regina in clipped tones. "Then I'm pleased to tell you that your suspension is over."

"As though there was any doubt of that," he said sarcastically, flicking his hair back. "I'll see you in the New Year."

He sauntered on, smirking to himself and leaving Regina scowling in his wake.

* * *

The diner was warm, the rush of early morning customers making her move quickly from kitchen to diner, and Ruby wiped her brow as she placed large servings of eggs and bacon in front of Leroy and Walter. The door opened, letting in a blast of refreshing, frost-filled air, and Ruby looked up to see Gold making his way inside, a pair of brown-tinted sunglasses shading his eyes from the low winter sun. He closed the door behind him and looked over at her, showing his teeth in what looked to be a genuine smile.

"Miss Lucas," he said warmly. "A very good morning to you. I trust you had a pleasant Christmas?"

Ruby blinked. "I - um - yeah," she said uncertainly. "Just coffee, right, Mr Gold?"

He held up one hand, a finger raised in its black leather glove, that smile still on his face.

"Actually, I believe I'll have something more substantial," he said. "Bacon and eggs, if you please."

Ruby stared at him for a moment, then shrugged, and noted the order on her pad before trotting off to the kitchen. Gold settled himself at a table by the window, taking off his overcoat and folding it over the chair across from him. He smiled up at Ruby when she came over to pour him coffee.

"Thank you, dear," he said. "I trust Mrs Lucas is well?"

"Uh - fine," said Ruby weakly. "Did you have a good Christmas, Mr Gold?"

"Well, I don't really celebrate," he allowed. "But I got caught up on some paperwork and drank some truly excellent whisky, so overall it was exceedingly satisfying."

Unsure how to respond to this new, cheerful Mr Gold, Ruby said nothing. She finished pouring the coffee, and he nodded.

"Thank you."

"No problem," she said awkwardly, straightening up. "Say...you didn't happen to be visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past, did you?"

His brow crinkled. "What?"

"Never mind." She backed away, a red-lipped smile frozen on her face. "Your order will be right out."

She trotted through to the kitchen, overtaking Belle on her way, who was carrying a loaded tray of dirty plates and cups. Ruby held the door open for her, and Belle put down the heavy tray. Ruby sighed as the short order cook slid a plate of eggs and bacon across the stainless steel bench.

"You can take those out to Gold," she said to Belle. "He's being overly nice, and it's freaking me out a little."

Belle rolled her eyes, but picked up the plate and carried it out. She noted that Gold was watching her approach, his eyes running over her and a warm smile on his face that made her blush.

"Your breakfast," she said, placing it in front of him.

"Thank you." He was still smiling at her, and she felt her own mouth twitch in response.

"Did you - have a good Christmas?" she ventured, and his smile thinned somewhat.

"Uneventful," he said. "Which is really all I require. You?"

Belle shrugged. "It was okay. Not as bad as I thought it would be. Ruby helped."

"No doubt." He looked amused then, and she hesitated, a thought occurring to her.

"You know Carella invited me to her wedding," she began, and he looked a little surprised, but nodded.

"I did. Will you go?"

Belle hesitated again, but nodded, and he regarded her calmly, stroking his upper lip with a finger.

"Would you prefer I didn't?" he asked gently, and her eyes widened.

"What? No, of course not! She's your friend, you should go! I was just - forewarning you, I guess."

"Ah." He picked up his fork, digging into his egg and spreading the yolk. "Well, thank you, Belle. I'll no doubt see you there."

"Right."

Unsure what else to say, she almost ran back to the kitchen. So, he would be there. They would _both_ be there. Together. In a public place. Keeping interaction to a minimum was probably a good idea.

* * *

Carella never had done things by halves, reflected Gold, as he and Jefferson turned into the sweeping driveway of the country club some miles out of Storybrooke on the day before New Year's Eve. The place was popular with tourists during the holiday season, and with city-types up from New York and Boston throughout the year. Lights adorned the trees leading up to the wide front doors, and he could hear classical music faintly playing from inside. The wedding was to be at four, with a lavish buffet and a free bar afterwards. He could already see numerous expensive cars parked outside, and presumed that the majority of Carella's friends had elected to drive up and stay over. He personally didn't intend to stay, and had offered Jefferson a bed for the night, should he not find one elsewhere.

"I doubt you'll know anyone here," he said, and Jefferson shrugged.

"For the first ten minutes, maybe," he said, and Gold smiled. It was true that Jefferson seemed to make friends easily and was well-liked by pretty much everyone he encountered. The car pulled to a stop, and the two men got out, Gold paying the driver as Jefferson bounced up and down on his heels.

"What does Regina say to you coming here?" he asked, and Jefferson sighed, smoothing the front of his black velvet frock coat.

"We're not _together_ ," he said patiently. "We just - _get_ together quite frequently. I'm a free agent. An amusing, attractive, hot-as-hell art teacher out to have fun!"

"Yes, well, be careful where you dip your paintbrush here," said Gold dryly. "If Carella finds out you fucked someone's significant other she won't be happy."

Jefferson gave him a flat look.

"Fine. I'll be as good as I can be," he said, and Gold snorted.

"Well, at least the sheriff's already here," he remarked, gesturing towards Graham, who was mounting the steps in a dark grey suit and white shirt. "That should save waiting around when he needs to arrest you."

"Sheriff Graham can slap handcuffs on me _any_ day of the week," announced Jefferson loudly, and Graham looked around, startled. Gold sighed.

The ballroom of the country club was lavishly decorated in silver and white, with tiny golden flowers and stars scattered around and twinkling in the light. Small, artfully pruned trees, bare of their leaves and sprayed white, had been brought into the room in pots and hung with tiny golden lights. They formed a passageway to the twin rows of white chairs that led to the place where Carella and Ursula would exchange their vows. Neither of the brides to be was present, and Gold snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing tray as he scanned the room for a recognisable face amongst the milling guests.

"Gold!" A hearty voice made him turn with a smile, and Carella's father clapped him on the shoulder. A big man, with a handsome face and hair gone white at the temples, his eyes crinkled in genuine pleasure.

"Glad you could make it," he said. "Carella's as nervous as a baby deer! She could do with a few familiar faces around."

"She'll only have eyes for Ursula when she gets down here," said Gold with a grin. "And I wouldn't have missed it." He gestured to the side. "This is my friend Jefferson Milliner. Jefferson, this is Leo Feinberg, Carella's father."

The two men exchanged some polite nothings while Gold took a sip of his drink, then Jefferson excused himself and went to introduce himself to anyone who would let him. Mr Feinberg put an arm around Gold's shoulder.

"So, when are you going to tire of teaching and come back and work for me?" he asked. "I could make it worth your while, you know."

Gold laughed. "Oh, I don't doubt that," he admitted. "But I always wanted to teach, you know that."

"Can't blame a man for trying," sighed Feinberg. "I have your old crew, of course, but none of them are half as good as you were."

"You hear how he insults us?" came a dry voice, and Gold looked around with a grin, to face a beautiful woman with blonde hair and full lips smiling at him.

"Mal," he said pleasantly. "How lovely to see you. How long has it been?"

"Way too long, you hermit," she sniffed. "Carella keeps me informed of your progress towards social isolation in that little town of yours, so it's not so bad."

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss her cheek, her spicy perfume filling his head. She was wearing a purple sheath dress that clung to her curves, and he could already see many of the men in the room shooting her admiring glances. She appeared to revel in it, rocking back and forth on her feet and making her hips sway.

"You look as though you're on the prowl," he said, and she shrugged languidly.

"Perhaps. All these wedding preparations have made me feel like I should settle down." She eyed Jefferson, and Gold snorted.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he said.

"We should talk, Gold," added Feinberg. "Not here. Come over one weekend. I have a proposition for you."

Gold opened his mouth to say that he wasn't interested, but Feinberg forestalled him with a raised hand.

"Hear me out first," he said. "Like I said, not here. This isn't a day for talking business."

"Finally, one of you talks sense," said Mal, linking her arm through Gold's. "Come on, Rum, get me a drink before I die of thirst."

* * *

Belle was nervous as she mounted the steps to the country club. She was unused to such opulence, and wasn't comfortable with it. Ruby was grinning by her side, eyes sparkling, head turning to take in everything around them. She looked beautiful, thought Belle, her dark hair twisted into an elegant knot with half of it hanging in a shining wave down her back. She was clad in a red satin dress that hugged her slim curves, the skirt possibly shorter than would be considered entirely respectable, but Belle didn't really care what people found acceptable. If they knew half of what _she'd_ done… She sighed, smoothing the front of her dress as she took off her coat and handed it to the attentive member of staff who appeared at their sides as if by magic. She herself was wearing a long dress in dark green velvet which clung to her shoulders, exposing a generous expanse of creamy skin. It showed off her pale complexion and reddish-brown hair, draping over her hips and flicking out over her feet as she walked. Her hair was up, her earrings small and gold and understated, and she had stared at her reflection in the mirror, barely recognising the face staring back at her, the girl with the wide blue eyes that were too old for her years. Ruby had squealed in excitement when she had walked a little self-consciously into the room at Granny's. Now, entering the ballroom of the country club, surrounded by people she didn't know, she felt suddenly claustrophobic, young and stupid, and she caught her breath, clutching at Ruby's arm.

"It's cool," said Ruby soothingly, who seemed to have taken Belle's sudden dislike of crowds in her stride. "Look, we'll get a drink. There's a terrace over there. We can hang out until the ceremony, if you like."

Belle calmed a little, and Ruby snatched a couple of tall glasses from a tray as it passed. Belle wound her way through the crowd, following her friend, and Ruby mounted the few steps that led up out through the wide French doors to the terrace with its carved stone balustrade. Belle heaved a sigh of relief as they turned back to face the guests, and Ruby handed her a glass.

"I hope we can go back inside soon," she remarked, shivering, and Belle winced.

"Sorry Rubes," she said. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"I do," said Ruby unexpectedly. "You're suffering. You've spent months nursing your dad and alternating between your house and school. Of course crowds are going to be weird to handle. How about we wait until we see someone we know, and then we go and corner them?"

Belle scanned the room.

"Dr Hopper's here," she said, pleased, and Ruby grinned.

"Good! I bet you ten bucks I can make him blush within five minutes."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like I'm gonna take _that_ bet!" She sipped at her drink, and bubbles went up her nose. Her eyes widened. "Rubes, what the hell is this?"

"Mimosa," said Ruby, unconcerned, sipping her own. "What? It _looks_ like orange juice. Just drink it, you'll be okay."

Belle drank a little more, and decided that it tasted good.

"Everyone looks so glamorous," she observed, looking over the guests.

"Yeah." Ruby inched closer, craning her neck. "Oh my God, there's Sheriff Graham! What's _he_ doing here? And…" She nudged Belle. "Look! It's Mr Milliner!"

Belle's breath caught in her throat, but it was not because Jefferson had just swept into the room with arms spread, his velvet frock coat clinging to his slim frame, drawing everyone's eyes. Gold was behind him, clad in an inky black suit that fitted him perfectly, a shirt as red as blood beneath it with a tie in dark red and a crimson handkerchief artfully arranged in his breast pocket. He was watching Jefferson with a tiny grin on his face, but then his eyes flicked over the room and settled on her. His mouth dropped open a little before snapping shut, and his eyes met hers, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. Belle could feel her breath quicken, her heart thump, a blush rising in her face as she felt his power, his need, his love for her. She wanted to go to him, to throw herself into his arms and kiss him and wrap herself around him. She bit her lip, trying to calm herself, and looked away.

"Oh, Mr Gold's there too," observed Ruby casually. "Did she invite the whole school, or something?"

"I don't see anyone else," said Belle, still trying to quiet her frantic heart. She took a gulp of her drink. "What do you want to do?"

"We could stay here, if you want," Ruby assured her. "Or you could follow me while I mingle, see I don't get into too much trouble." She grinned at Belle, who returned the smile.

"Fine," she sighed. "You can do the talking, though."

Ruby giggled, and took her hand, pulling her down off the steps and into the crowd.

They didn't have long to wait until the ceremony, for which Belle was grateful. She had been pulled along in Ruby's wake, listening with half an ear as her friend chatted and flirted a little with everyone she met. She spotted Gold a few times, deep in conversation with one man or another, sometimes arm in arm with a pretty blonde woman with expressive hands and a languid air. He caught her eye once or twice over the rim of his champagne glass, smiling briefly, his eyes wickedly dark as they looked her over, and Belle felt her breath catch as she remembered how his body felt on hers, the brush of his fingers, the taste of his mouth.

Eventually the guests were asked to sit, and Belle and Ruby took their places near the back of the rows of chairs. Gold was down near the front, chatting with Jefferson, and they all fell silent as a classical tune started up. Belle recognised it as Handel, and she looked around eagerly as tiny sighs went up from the guests. Ursula was first up the aisle, on the arm of a handsome, powerfully-built man with greying hair whom Belle presumed was her father. She was wearing a dress in champagne silk, with a fishtail skirt and tight bodice lavishly adorned with crystals and tiny gold beads. Beaded gold shoes with pointed toes peeped out from beneath the long skirts, and the warmth of the gold gave her skin a deep bronze glow. The dress left her shoulders bare, showing off her curves, and her hair was swept up on her head and elaborately curled, with little golden stars scattered through it. She carried a simple spray of white roses bound with a gold ribbon, and Belle watched avidly as she made her way at a sedate pace to where the minister stood.

A whisper ran around the crowd, and Belle craned her neck to see as Carella made her way to the front on the arm of her grinning father, clad in a tight-fitting white silk dress with a corseted bodice, the skirt flaring out from above her knees and stretching behind her in a long train. Her hair was also up, scattered with silver stars and crystals, and the beading on the bodice of her dress and in the embroidery snaking across the skirt was silver. She appeared to have eyes only for Ursula, and the two were visibly emotional when they finally stood together, setting their bouquets aside and joining their hands.

The words of the service flowed over Belle, their promises, the vows they made to one another, and all too quickly it was over. The newlyweds kissed, their arms going around one another, Carella's pale skin against Ursula's dark, their bodies pressed together, and Belle thought that they looked like a beautiful statue, a figurine in bronze and alabaster, silver and gold. Eventually they pulled apart, Ursula kissing Carella's nose, and the guests applauded loudly, Jefferson letting out a whoop that made both women giggle.

"Now, bugger off and have a drink, all of you!" said Carella loudly, waving an arm, and everyone laughed.

"Come on." Ruby nudged Belle. "The food looks pretty awesome. You want another mimosa?"

"Food first," said Belle firmly, secretly thinking that keeping Ruby sober might be the biggest challenge she faced that evening.

* * *

Gold was surprised to find that he had been enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he'd been out in a crowd of people, and while many of them were either boring, self-involved, drunk, or a combination of all three, he nonetheless had some interesting conversations. He hadn't trusted himself to speak to Belle, although he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, and he wished that he could speak to her, could touch her, dance with her. Instead, he simply watched, as she chatted with Ruby and ate tiny pastries held between her thumb and forefinger, the pink tip of her tongue flicking out to sweep up the sugary glaze on her skin. He swallowed hard, taking a swig of his champagne to distract himself.

"This. Is. _Awesome_!" Jefferson bounced up to him, eyes bright with excitement and alcohol, and Gold sighed.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he said, amused, and Jefferson grinned at him.

"Are you kidding? Your friends are _great_! Say, did you know the lovely Sheriff Graham is gay?"

"I didn't." Gold turned to him. "How did you find out?"

"He told me of course." Jefferson took a drink, ice cubes clinking in his glass, and shrugged. "Well, that, and he stuck his tongue down my throat about five minutes ago."

Gold snorted. "Well, I won't be expecting you to stay over tonight, then."

"If I'm lucky." Jefferson winked at him, and scurried off again, to where Sheriff Humbert waited by the bar. Gold grinned to himself. Yes, it appeared he would taking a cab home alone.

"Well, there goes that plan," sighed Mal, appearing at his shoulder and gesturing towards Jefferson. Gold grinned at her.

"Jefferson is extremely flexible in his relationships," he said. "I can't say the same for the good sheriff, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I expect I'll end up in bed by ten with a mug of cocoa at this rate," she sniffed. "What about you? Carella told me you actually fell in love, and that you screwed it up about as much as it's possible to screw up anything."

Gold frowned. "Yes, well, I'd have thought she'd have better things to talk about on her wedding day than my woeful relationship issues," he said stiffly, and Mal rolled her eyes.

"She cares about you, you idiot! We all do. Why didn't you invite your lady-love here tonight?" She waved a languid hand as he frowned.

"Not that I'm complaining about your alternative plus-one, you understand," she added. "But I'd be fascinated to meet the woman who finally broke down your walls."

"Why does everyone _insist_ that I have bloody walls?" he demanded, throwing up a frustrated hand as he turned to face her. "And besides, we're not together!"

She whistled softly, looking amused.

"Okay, okay, take it easy!"

He muttered something under his breath, and she sighed.

"Rum, please tell me you're at least working on some sort of reconciliation," she said gently. "This is the first time in all the years I've known you that you've even hinted at being in love with someone."

He looked at the floor, his jaw tightening a little, trying not to let his eyes stray to Belle.

"We're working on it," he admitted. "Slowly. When Carella said I fucked it up, she wasn't kidding."

"Yes, you never did do things by halves," said Mal dryly, and she leant in to kiss his cheek. "I'm happy for you, darling. Try to make it work, won't you?"

He grunted something, and she grinned at him, sweeping away to the dance floor.

* * *

Belle and Ruby had danced enthusiastically, in part due to the three glasses of champagne they had each consumed, filched from trays when the staff weren't looking. Belle was light-headed, and had resolved not to have anything more, but she had to confess that she felt - if not exactly _good_ \- then better than she had expected to feel. Her cheeks were a little flushed, though, and she waved a hand at Ruby when she suggested that they dance the next.

"Okay, we'll take a break," agreed Ruby, and bounced off the floor, Belle following her through the crowd. She almost ploughed into the back of Ruby, who had stopped suddenly, a giggle bubbling up out of her.

"Oh, my!" she said, amused, and Belle peered over her shoulder. Mr Milliner and Sheriff Graham were in a tight embrace, their hands stroking through each other's hair as they kissed fiercely, saliva shining on their chins. Belle watched in fascination as Graham's tongue stroked around the outside of Mr Milliner's lips, his stubble turning the other man's chin pink.

"Hey, Mr Milliner!" said Ruby brightly, and the two men broke apart as though they had been electrocuted, hands falling to their sides. Graham was trying to catch his breath, staring at the floor, and Mr Milliner's face fell as he noticed the two that had disturbed their enjoyment of each other.

"Ah," he said bleakly, and Ruby grinned.

"Having fun?" she asked innocently, and Mr Milliner swallowed hard, before composing himself and sweeping them an elaborate bow.

"Ladies," he said smoothly. "I trust that we can all enjoy ourselves without too much - discussion at school?"

"What happens at the wedding, stays at the wedding," said Ruby solemnly, and Mr Milliner grinned at her.

"Miss Lucas, you are wise beyond your years," he said gravely. "And in return, I shall say nothing of your underage drinking."

He showed his teeth, and Ruby frowned, then shrugged as if she didn't care.

"Fair enough, I guess." She put her head to the side, her expression suddenly sly. "You know, I could be persuaded to be even quieter if you guys got us another drink…"

"I think not," said Graham sternly. "You two go and behave yourselves."

"Sorry!" said Belle hastily, dragging Ruby away and trying not to giggle at her pouting.

* * *

The evening stretched on, and Gold grew a little weary. It had been enjoyable to meet with old colleagues and talk over the research they had been doing, but he had to remind himself that that world was not his anymore, and had reluctantly pulled away from a discussion on genetics when two of his old lab colleagues had cornered him and asked his opinion on a recent paper. Overall, the day had been pleasant, but he also felt a little melancholy, and he wasn't sure if it was the champagne, or the sight of so many happy couples. He had not spoken to Belle once, and had been forced to watch as she swept around the room, drawing sneaky looks from the guests. Her beauty was astounding, and he was halfway to convincing himself that he had dreamed their whole relationship. She had caught his eye, though, heat in her gaze, and he had raised his glass from across the room, taking a slow swallow of wine as their eyes locked, his heart thumping in his chest, his desire stirring. Ruby had tugged at her hand, pulling her away to the dance floor, and he was plunged back into a quiet sadness, letting the music and laughter flow over him like a gentle river.

"Dance with me then, you miserable old git!"

Gold turned with a grin, to where Carella was holding out her hand to him. Her cheeks were a little flushed, her eyes bright, and he let her lead him onto the floor, looping his cane over his arm as he put a hand on her waist. She sighed dreamily as he spun her around.

"How are you?" he asked, and she snorted.

"A little drunk, darling. Ecstatic, though. It's been a wonderful day. My mascara hasn't run, has it?"

"You look beautiful," he assured her. "Ursula is… well, she's a sarcastic arsehole. I'm sure you'll be very happy."

He grinned at her, and Carella giggled, resting her head against his shoulder.

"You really are the world's biggest knobhead," she said dryly, and his grin widened.

"I'm pleased that you're happy," he said, as they turned in a slow circle.

"I really am." She raised her head then, looking up at him. "I wish _you_ were. What happened, Rum? With the love of your life?" She put her head to the side, the tiny silver hair ornaments sparkling in the light.

"Did you talk to her?" she pressed. "Did you fix things?"

He gave her a brief smile, side-stepping to avoid her father, who was exuberantly twirling a grinning Mal under his outstretched arm.

"No, we didn't fix things," he admitted. "Not yet, anyway. We did talk, though. Briefly."

"Well, that's something, I suppose," she sniffed. "If you're not shagging her again by the time I get back from honeymoon, you're going to get a spanking. I need you to be happy."

"Concentrate on being happy yourself," he said, spinning her around. "Don't you worry about me." He looked down, frowning. "And stop trying to lead, damn you! You just stood on my foot again!"

"Humph," she said grumpily. "I'm calling you next week, anyway. I expect an update. With torrid tales of wanton nakedness."

"You'll be on honeymoon," he remarked dryly. "I'm sure you'll have all the wanton nakedness you can handle."

* * *

Ruby had managed to sneak another glass of champagne, and Belle had wavered in her refusal, so had ended up drinking it. She had cried off dancing, however, her head a little fuzzy, and Ruby had pouted briefly before running onto the dance floor and immediately being surrounded by a few of the younger male guests. Belle watched her a little dreamily, the music soaking through her body as she leant on the balcony surrounding the terrace. Everyone looked so happy, she reflected, watching them dancing, laughing. She wondered if she would ever feel like that again, as though she hadn't a care in the world. Ruby twirled, arms above her head, laughing, and Belle smiled fondly. Life went on. Her father had said as much, but she hadn't believed him. Perhaps it could be true, even for her. One day.

"Not in the mood to dance?" Gold's voice made her jump a little, and Belle turned to face him. He was standing on the terrace, his breath misting the air in front of him, and she smiled briefly before turning back to her observation of the dancing couples. She heard the tap of his cane as he approached, and felt his presence at her side, a warm heaviness that sparked and hummed, pulling her in.

"I think I've had about enough social interaction for one night," she admitted, and she felt him diminish, felt him withdraw a little.

"Oh." He was silent for a moment, and out of the corner of her eye she watched his fingers open and close on the handle of his cane a little.

"Well," he said quietly, "Well, I'll - I'll leave you to it, then."

"Oh, I didn't mean that," she assured him, turning to put a hand on his arm. "I just…" She hesitated, trying to find the words, and he watched her steadily, a little anxiously. She could tell that he was trying not to do anything that might upset her, or anger her, and for some reason she found it irritating, as though she owed him something. As though she felt obliged to have a good time. She let her hand slip from his arm and shrugged a little awkwardly, one pale shoulder rising and falling.

"It's - it's the first time I've been around this many people in a while," she said. "I hadn't realised how _exhausting_ it can be."

He nodded, turning his gaze back to the room.

"I understand," he said, and gestured to the crowd. "They seem to be enjoying themselves."

"Yes." She was aware that she sounded unemotional, aware that he was watching her, the feel of his gaze burning her skin, making her lips part and her heart thump.

"But you're not," he observed quietly, and she shrugged again.

"It's not that exactly, it's…" She bit her lip, frowning. "It's like - like I don't feel I can be a part of that. Like I don't belong there."

"Hmm." He was running his eyes over her face, the way he did when he was trying to read her. "Where _do_ you feel you belong, Belle?"

 _Home. With you._ She shoved the thought away, but he was watching her calmly, so she hesitated, uncomfortable and insecure.

"I don't know."

His eyes locked on hers, steady and warm, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he lifted a hand, gesturing to the terrace.

"Would you care to dance?" he asked, and she blushed, biting her lip anxiously.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked, and he gave her a wry grin.

"I'm asking you for a dance, not a kiss," he said. "Will you?"

In answer, she slipped her hand into his, allowing him to lead her a little way back from the French windows. He laid his cane against the stone balcony, slipping a hand around her waist as her palm slid up to his shoulder.

"There," he said quietly. "I think we'll be okay as long as I don't try anything too adventurous."

Belle giggled. "Don't worry, I'll probably fall over before you do," she said, and tried to calm her fluttering nerves as he pulled her a little closer, turning her around in a steady rhythm. She tried to look in all directions at once; they were only dancing, of course, but for some reason she expected everyone to see what she felt for the man in front of her, that they would see into her soul, that they would somehow _know_. Gold pulled her up for a moment, caught her gaze and held it.

"Breathe," he said gently, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "No one's watching. Try to relax."

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as they turned. He was right, of course, no one was paying them the slightest attention. She noticed that Ruby was now dancing with Dr Hopper, which made her feel a little better, and she turned her attention back to Gold.

"There," he said, his voice soft. "It'll be fine."

They swayed gently, stepping in a small circle on the terrace, and Belle hardly felt the cold night air on her skin as she looked up at him.

"Carella seems very happy," she observed, and he grinned fondly.

"Indeed. I'm pleased for her. She was a little wild in her youth, and she likes to pretend that her life's one long party, but at her heart she's only ever wanted to be loved, to be the most important thing in someone's life."

"Yeah," said Belle quietly. "I understand that. Ursula seems nice."

"They're well-suited," he agreed. "Both brilliant in their respective fields, both sarcastic and irritating as hell."

"Imagine that," said Belle dryly, and he grinned at her.

"I'm glad you came."

"I am too," she admitted. "It's weird, I didn't want to come at all."

"What changed your mind?" he asked, and she hesitated.

"Papa - wanted me to," she said haltingly. "He said - he said I shouldn't close myself off. I think I understand what he meant, now."

Gold nodded slowly, his eyes looking off into the distance for a moment, before flicking back to her.

"Yes," he said quietly. "When you lose a loved one, it's tempting to just retreat into yourself and shut out the world. I don't imagine that it's particularly healthy, though."

"Yeah." Belle was silent for a moment. "I didn't think we'd get to talk tonight."

He seemed to stiffen a little, almost instinctively, before relaxing again and pivoting on his good leg.

"Was there something you wanted to ask me?" he said quietly, and Belle chewed her lip.

"Is that okay?" she asked anxiously, and he flashed her a brief smile, although his eyes were weary.

"If I don't think we should talk about it tonight, is it alright to say so?"

She swallowed, surprised at the bare emotion in his face.

"Of course," she managed, and he nodded.

"Then ask away." He stepped forwards, and Belle instinctively went back on her left foot, her fingers clutching at his shoulder.

"Have you ever been married?" she asked, jerking her head towards the main floor, where Carella and Ursula were slow-dancing. Gold smiled.

"No. Next question."

"Would you get married?" she asked, and his smile widened.

"Yes. Would you?"

"Yes," she said immediately. There was silence for a moment, and she pondered her next question, the champagne making her brain a little fuzzy.

"What happened to your leg?" she asked suddenly.

Gold hesitated, his usual response, that it had been a car crash, bubbling up to sit on the front of his tongue and burn like acid. He had said it so often, so dismissively, over the many years since his leg had been ruined, that he wondered if a part of him, buried deep, somehow believed it. He swallowed the lie down, feeling it scrape and claw its way down his throat. She had wanted honesty, and he owed her that. But this was not the place for that revelation.

"Belle, could this be one of the conversations we have when we're in private?" he asked gently, and her brow crinkled.

"Of course," she said awkwardly, and fell silent. He turned again, pulling her a little closer, breathing her in, and she let out a tiny sigh as she pressed against his chest. He could feel her thinking, her mind ticking away even as he held her, and he waited for her to pull away from him, to tell him that he wasn't being open enough. She raised her head, gazing sharply at him, and he tensed, waiting for the blow.

"I want to spend the night," she said suddenly, and he paused for a moment, looking at her curiously. She blushed.

"I don't mean _now_ ," she explained. "I mean, some time soon. We only had that one night together in the cabin, and it was lovely. I'd like us to have that again. Maybe we could talk. Properly, I mean."

He smiled briefly, his hand tightening on her waist.

"I don't know how we'd arrange that, sweetheart," he admitted. "But yes, I'd like that very much."

Belle smiled up at him, loving the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and she could feel his love for her, his desire, his passion. She pressed herself against him a little more, her breath coming out in a tiny gasp, and his pupils dilated, his breath quickening as he gazed down at her. God, how she wanted his touch!

"You're looking exceptionally beautiful," he said quietly, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Beautiful enough to kiss?" she whispered, and he let out a tiny growl and swept her to the side, out of the line of sight of most of the wedding guests. His hand left her waist, reaching up to cup her cheek, and he lowered his mouth to hers, his lips soft and warm, his tongue sweet with the warm flavour of champagne. Belle opened her mouth for him, humming in pleasure at the taste of him, but the kiss was brief, sweet, passionate. Her heart was thumping, the taste of him in her mouth, and he slowly pulled back, their lips parting. He let his forehead rest against hers with a sigh, a tiny, rueful smile on his face, and he lifted a hand to caress her cheek, his thumb stroking gently over her lower lip to catch the remnant of their kiss.

"That," he whispered. "That should have been our first kiss. I should have done things better, Belle. I should have waited. Courted you."

She pulled back, falling into the turn of the dance again as his arm slipped around her, his palm a warm pressure at the base of her spine.

"I'm not in a Regency novel," she said reprovingly. "And none of this would matter if you weren't a teacher. Why couldn't you be a lawyer or - or a pawnbroker, or something?"

"A pawnbroker?" He looked amused, and she blushed a little.

"First thing I could think of," she admitted. "It wouldn't matter then, right? No one would care."

"Oh, they'd care," he said dryly. "They just wouldn't be able to arrest me for it."

"I don't care what they think," she said stoutly. "I don't even see why it matters. I think maybe you should kiss me again."

Gold pulled her to him, wanting her, needing her.

"Miss French, you will be the death of me!" he breathed.

"Gold!" Jefferson's voice made him turn, and Belle jerked back from him, blushing. Gold managed to keep his expression impassive, but he was aware that Jefferson was eyeing the two of them curiously.

"Is there a problem?" asked Gold, more snappishly than he would have liked. Jefferson raised an eyebrow with a brief flick, frowning a little.

"I - just wanted to let you know that I won't be taking you up on that offer of a spare bed," he said, and Gold smiled.

"Well, congratulations," he said. "Give my regards to the good sheriff, won't you?"

"Sure." Jefferson turned to go, shooting a final, puzzled look at Belle, and Gold sighed inwardly. Fantastic.

"I - should go too," said Belle awkwardly, looking around. "If Ruby steals any more champagne, Granny'll ground her for a month."

"Of course," he said calmly, and she smiled up at him, still keeping her distance. It was for the best, of course, but it still burned. She chewed her lip, ducking her head a little, and he watched her walk away, the green velvet shining in the light of the lamps.

* * *

 **A/N: Poor babies can't keep their hands off each other.**

 **Next time: the New Year dawns, and Gold and Belle share some truths.**


	21. Confession

**A/N: Having had a couple of days of relative rest, I feel much better, so I wanted to get a new chapter up.**

 **Last time, Belle and Gold danced at the wedding, and Gold promised to be honest with her. Belle is, obviously, a naturally curious person...**

* * *

New Year's Eve was a quiet affair, and Belle was relieved. She had ventured out to the town to watch the fireworks at midnight, but had sneaked back to the diner soon afterwards, leaving Ruby to enjoy the celebrations with Emma and their other friends. Laughter and faint music drifted up through her window as she lay in bed with her arms behind her head, thinking over the events of the past terrible, soul-crushing year. She hoped the next year would be better, that she would somehow manage to keep it together and pass her S.A.T.s, that she would eventually stop bursting into tears over a familiar smell, or a song, or the memories that flooded into her head when she passed the empty flower shop. There was a sign in the window now, informing passers-by that the shop was available, and she wondered who would end up taking on the lease. A part of her wanted it to be another florist, even though it would hurt to walk past the shop every day and know that her father wouldn't be in there, bustling around with buckets of roses and lilies, the green scent of growing things flowing out to greet her.

She inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling with the out-breath. She had not been to his grave since the funeral; it had been too soon, too raw, but she thought that perhaps she ought to go. Perhaps it would help. Turning onto her side, she pulled the covers up over herself, hoping she would sleep, but her mind was busily running over everything that had happened in the past few weeks. She had not seen Gold after she had left the wedding, not that she had expected to. He appeared to be waiting for her to come to him, and she was glad of it. Their time together had been limited to the dance on the terrace, the brief, stolen kiss made all the sweeter by its illicitness, and she had been thinking over what he had said to her ever since.

It was strange, she reflected, that their time together on Christmas Day had made things no easier. They had declared their love, had shown it in the most intimate of ways, but physical closeness could not fix what was broken between them. Opening up was hard for him, she knew, far harder than it was for her, but if they were to make this work she would settle for nothing less than complete honesty from him. A part of her was almost afraid of what she might hear.

* * *

New Year's Day dawned crisp and bright, the sun gleaming off the fallen snow, a strong breeze whipping up dead leaves and ice crystals outside Granny's. The diner was closed for the day, so the kitchen was dark and silent when Belle went downstairs, Granny and Ruby still sleeping. She debated whether to go for a run, but she was tired from the late night and too little sleep, and so instead she made herself a piece of toast and some tea, and sat in the lounge with her feet curled under her, reading a book as the sun rose and the town gradually came to life. By the time she had finished her tea, she had decided to walk over to the cemetery, and so she pulled on her coat and the cashmere scarf Granny had bought her for Christmas, a dark blue cloche hat tugged down on her head.

The air was freezing, and fresh snow had fallen overnight, leaving the roads white except for the odd track left by a passing car. She made her way slowly out to the edge of town, to the cemetery where she had laid her father's body to rest. Pushing open the gate, she realised that she could have brought some flowers. The convenience store sold them: bright bunches of yellow chrysanthemums and red carnations in plastic buckets near the vegetable racks, but none of these were right. Perhaps whoever took the lease on her father's shop really _would_ open up a florist's, then she could buy some of his favourites and bring them out to lay by his headstone. Irises and daffodils in the spring, and sunflowers later in the year.

The snow in the churchyard was unmarked, the headstones standing out against the brilliant white, and she walked slowly around to the rear of the small church and up the rise to where her parents' grave lay. She brushed snow from the top of the headstone, her fingertips sweeping fine white powder from the smooth dark granite, and straightened up, looking down at his name cut into the cold stone.

"Hey, Papa," she said quietly.

The wind caught at her hair, blowing strands of it in her face, and she spat out a dark curl, brushing it behind her ear. The air was crisp and cold, stinging her cheeks when the breeze rose, and she shuffled her feet awkwardly.

"This feels weird," she said eventually. "I don't even know if you can hear me, but I guess there's nowhere else I can talk to you."

The silence in the graveyard was heavy, even the distant cars muted by the evergreens that ringed the cemetery, the thick snow on the ground seeming to muffle the sounds of the world around. Belle looked around briefly before turning back to the grave.

"Well, you were right," she sighed. "He did want me. To be honest, he already had me, when you and I talked, Papa. I know you were afraid for me, and I know you wouldn't approve, but it was my choice. I wanted him, too."

The breeze rustled the branches of the pine trees, the silence broken by the faint chirps of birds, the nearby cawing of crows. Belle worried the end of one finger of her leather glove before looking at the grave again.

"You said - you said he'd hurt me," she said hesitantly. "You were right about that, too."

She looked around again, checking for any other early morning visitors, worried about being overheard, and then squatted down on her heels before the headstone.

"I do love him, Papa," she whispered. "He loves me, too. I know that's not enough, I'm not stupid. But it's something, right?. We're trying to make it work. He says he wants to be honest with me, but I don't know if I trust him enough."

The wind blew again, scattering tiny grains of ice and snow, sparkling like diamond dust in the air. Ice crystals dropped on her lower lip, and she licked them off.

"It's not that I think he'll intentionally hurt me again," she added. "It's just - I know how private he is, how there are things he keeps hidden. So many things, I think. I don't know if he'll ever open himself up to me that much. I don't know if he'll ever trust _me_ enough, either. I don't think he trusts anyone."

She sighed, running her gloved hand over the face of the headstone, feeling the grooves that bore his name, and her mother's below. It seemed too little to mark the impact they had had on her world, on each other: their dates of birth and death, the inscriptions of _Beloved Wife and Mother, Devoted Husband and Father,_ insufficient to show what they had been as people, what they had been to _her_. She had long ago lost her mother's gentle kindness, her vivacity, and now her father's solid dependability and generosity was also gone, buried deep in the earth and reduced to a few lines carved in cold stone. She was facing the world without her family, and the thought was terrifying.

"I'm eighteen this year," she said, her voice cracking a little. "I have to start applying for college and acting like a grown-up, and I'm not _ready_ , Papa, I'm not! Everyone thinks I have it together, and I just feel as though I'm coming apart at the seams!"

She could feel the tears forming, a tense pricking behind her eyes and a heaviness in her chest, around her heart. The cold was chilling her feet through her boots, and she sat back on her heels, not wanting to leave the grave just yet.

"Ruby helps," she said quietly. "And Granny, of course. Emma and Mary. And - and _him_. Everyone else looks the other way, like I'm cursed. Like it's catching. They try to be kind, but they don't understand."

Tears were stinging her eyes, welling in her lower lids, and her mouth tightened as she tried not to cry.

"I miss you," she whispered, and a single droplet tracked down her cheek, cold against her skin when the breeze caught it. "Every day I miss you."

She wiped away the tear, dashing off another that fell, and pushed herself to her feet, laying her hand on the top of the headstone, as though she could touch him.

* * *

Gold had spent a bad night, plagued by dark dreams whenever he dropped off, and at five-thirty he had given up trying to sleep and had got up to make himself some coffee and read a little. He had been restless though, unable to concentrate, and eventually had made his way out in the cold dark of the early morning, hoping that a walk would clear his mind. He had walked slowly around the edge of the town, passing no one, his shoes squeaking in the fresh snowfall.

The sun had risen, its pale light gleaming off the snow by the time he turned back towards the centre of town, walking alongside the low wall with its iron railings that ringed the cemetery. As he reached the gates, dark wrought-iron against pale grey stone pillars, he hesitated, fingers twitching on the handle of his cane. Reaching out, he pushed at one of the gates, a faint squeak the only sound beside the background noise of the town: birdsong and the rustling of trees, the distant purr of cars.

He stepped inside the cemetery gates, blinking in the light of the low winter sun. He was certainly not religious, and had not been inside the church since he moved to Storybrooke, but there was something calming about the cemetery, about the order of its sweeping rows of headstones and the darkness of the evergreen trees that ringed the graveyard and spread out towards the surrounding woods. It was a peaceful place, he had found, with few visitors to interrupt his thoughts, his internal monologue. A place to reflect, to be alone. To think about his mistakes, his weaknesses. His failure.

Tightening his jaw, he stepped forward, meaning to take the path that led towards the church. He followed it around, past the ancient pine that cast its shadow over the granite headstones surrounding it. He rounded the side of the church and strode out towards the rear, out to where many of the graves were old and unvisited, the descendents of their inhabitants long dead. The wind blew hair in his face and he brushed it out impatiently, his eyes flicking open to where a splash of colour caught his gaze amidst the monochrome tones of the landscape around him. A lone figure, bright against the fallen snow in a blue coat, dark hair blown by the breeze to whip across her face in curling strands. _Belle_.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised to see her here, at the turning of the year, at the time to think of those who were gone. He hesitated, unsure whether to approach her, reminded all too vividly of the last time they had stood together in the graveyard. Pulling a face at his own weakness, he made himself step forwards, the cold seeping through his shoes and chilling his bones. Pain was his constant companion, and the bitter Maine winter made his leg even worse, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, the snow building up on the toes of his shoes as he went. Belle looked around as he approached, sending him a wan smile. She was wearing a new scarf, the colour making her eyes startlingly blue, but she also looked tearful, and his heart ached for her.

"I didn't think I'd see you here," she said. "I didn't think I'd see anyone, to be honest."

"If you want to be alone, I can go," he offered, and she shook her head.

"It's okay. I said what I wanted to say. It feels weird, talking to a headstone, but there are things I needed to tell him." She gave him a brief, nervous look. "Do you think - do you think he can hear me? Do you think he's watching me?"

He hesitated. "I like to think that those we love never truly leave us," he admitted. "Perhaps he is."

She nodded slowly, still watching him. Her gaze was a little unsettling, as though she could see into his soul.

"What about you?" she asked. "Who did you come out here to talk to?"

He looked away, pretending interest in a crow as it picked its way across the snow-covered ground, black head bobbing.

"I came out here for a walk," he said. "I don't have any relatives buried here, if that's what you mean."

"It's not," she said gently.

He breathed in, the cold air burning his lungs and chilling his heart, and she was silent for the space of two breaths, waiting as he stood there with mist streaming from his nostrils like smoke.

"You lost someone, didn't you?" she said, her voice soft. "Will you tell me about it?"

His mouth twisted, but he looked back at her, at her wide blue eyes and her gentle smile, seeing her love, her compassion, the beauty of her face clouded by her own grief. At the pain she carried with her like a heavy shroud.

"Will it make you feel better?" he asked, and she shrugged.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But it might make _you_ feel better."

"It gives me no pleasure to speak of it, I assure you," he said evenly, and she nodded.

"I guessed as much," she said. "But I said I wanted you to be honest with me. That means sharing the painful stuff as well as the pleasant, doesn't it?"

"Yes." His voice had fallen to a whisper, but she waited patiently, and he made himself speak, made himself pull the words from the depths of his soul.

"When I was young, and even stupider than I am now, I had a son," he began. "His mother didn't want him, and she left when he was too small to remember her, so I raised him alone."

"Oh." Belle looked at the ground, seemingly unsure how to react to this new information. She chewed her lip a little, glancing up at him, and he waited for her next question. Given that he had been trying his hardest not to speak of the worst night of his life with anyone for the past seventeen years, the sudden,strong feeling that he wanted to tell her, _needed_ to tell her, was unexpected and a little alarming.

"What - what's his name?" she asked hesitantly, and he looked at her gravely.

"His name - was Neal," he said heavily. "He was beautiful: the best, the most important thing I had ever done with my entire miserable life."

His jaw worked, his lip wobbling as he struggled to find the words, and she waited patiently. Acid rose in his throat, burning him, and he swallowed hard.

"And I killed him," he said thickly, the words seeming to cut him on their way out, to shred his soul into pieces.

She paled, straightening a little, her fingers flickering as she tried to work out what to do with her hands, but she didn't run, and she didn't back away. That was something, at least. She raised her head, nodding for him to continue, and he sighed, looking at the ground.

"Perhaps I should explain," he said quietly. "I was in my final year at university, doing my Master's degree, working in the local pubs whenever I could get a babysitter. We had a shitty little flat in Glasgow, just two tiny bedrooms and no working lift half the time. Neal was almost five."

Belle could see how painful it was for him to speak of his son. A part of her didn't want to hear any more, as from the look on his face she was certain that his tale wouldn't end in anything other than tragedy, but she had asked for honesty, and hearing him out was the least she could do. She waited for him to continue, but he hesitated, glancing up at her briefly.

"Go on," she whispered, and he looked away again, grinding awkwardly at the ground with the end of his cane.

"It happened the night before Christmas Eve," he said. "We'd put the Christmas decorations up a few days earlier. Neal was more of a hindrance than a help, and he almost pulled the tree over twice, but he was so excited." He smiled fondly at the memory. "He loved the Christmas lights especially, all different coloured stars on a string."

Belle nodded, and his mouth twitched, his jaw working a little.

"I'd worked a double-shift, and paid off the babysitter when I got home," he said then. "Neal was in bed already, and I sat down in front of the fire. I - I swear I only meant to close my eyes for a moment!"

He lifted a hand, finally looking at her, his eyes pleading with her, and she wanted to touch him, to run her hand across his shoulder and brush away some of the pain and heartache that had made him bow his head.

"What happened?" she asked then, and his face twisted.

"The lights," he sighed. "The Christmas tree lights. An electrical fire. I woke up and the place was full of smoke, the tree burning. I ran to his room, snatched him from his bed, but it was too late to get out of the front door. The fire had spread, eating up that cheap old sofa like it had been doused in petrol."

His eyes had a far-off look in them, his mouth set in a grim line at the memories.

"I can still feel the heat on my face," he said softly. "The way it burned my lungs when the air was sucked from the room. So I broke the bedroom window, took him in my arms, and jumped."

Belle swallowed hard, feeling desperately sad for him. He was shaking his head, as though that would loosen the visions, make them fall from his mind and torture him no longer.

"You asked about my leg," he said. "That's - that's how I did it. Broke it in a dozen places or more. I was lucky not to lose the thing. Blacked out as soon as I hit the ground and woke up in hospital."

Belle waited, dreading the inevitable conclusion, and his mouth worked, his grief still there, still powerful. He squared his jaw, and looked at her.

"He was already gone," he said abruptly. "Smoke inhalation. He was dying even as I slept on that fucking sofa. He was already dead when I jumped."

Belle pressed a hand to her mouth, wanting to cry again, and he looked away, as though to acknowledge her sympathy would be to deserve it. She could see where at least some of his self-loathing came from, now.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I can't imagine how terrible that must have been."

He shrugged, digging at the frozen ground again with the end of his cane, stabbing coin-sized holes in the fresh snow.

"It's quiet out here, especially in winter," he said then. "I like to think of him at this time. Remember how I failed him."

She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault," she said gently.

"Of course it was." His voice was curt, dismissive, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"It was an accident," she said. "Just a stupid accident. You can't blame yourself."

"Whose fault was it, if it wasn't mine?" he asked bitterly. "I was supposed to protect him. That was all I had to do, protect him and love him. Raise him right. I should be with him, now. Taking him back to university, or something. Not - not standing in fucking _Maine,_ miles away from him, and…" He cut off, a frustrated expression on his face, gesturing at nothing. Belle was silent for a moment.

"I guess I can see why you don't celebrate Christmas," she said, and he gave her a wry smile.

"What the hell do I have to celebrate?" he asked, and she nodded in understanding. The wind blew, rustling the branches of the pine trees, ruffling his hair and making her eyes sting.

"How - how old would he be?" she asked then, and he screwed up his face, pain tightening his features.

"Twenty-two," he said hoarsely, looking at the ground, and Belle sighed.

"Rum, you've been carrying this guilt around with you as long as I've been alive," she said softly. "You need to forgive yourself."

He looked up sharply, shaking his head, his face stricken.

"I'll never forgive myself," he whispered. "Never!"

His eyes were bright with pain, with bitterness, and she caught her lip between her teeth, blinking rapidly to stop the tears. She knew what it was to lose a loved one, of course, but she couldn't imagine the agony of feeling responsible for their death. His breath had hardened with emotion, his chest heaving, and she wished she could help him. Hesitantly, she slipped her hand into his, threading their fingers together, and he looked down at their clasped hands in surprise.

"Let's walk," she said gently, and pulled him with her, away from the cold granite headstones, those reminders of impermanence, of mortality. She walked towards the woods, where the trees pushed rough, russet trunks up towards the heavens and life was abundant even in the depths of winter. They picked their way around twisting roots and trailing strings of ivy, where the forest had been for thousands of years and where it would continue to grow long after they were both dust. Belle clutched his hand tight in hers as they walked, until they were out of sight of the graveyard, and then she slowed to a stop, turning to face him. He was watching her curiously, almost warily. The cold had made his cheeks and nose redden, and his breath misted out towards her. She tugged off her glove, pressing her palm to his cheek, the cold biting at her exposed fingers. His skin was smooth, only a hint of regrowth on his jawline, and she gazed up at him.

"I understand," she said gently. "I understand that you feel guilty, that you feel responsible. I want to tell you that you're not, that it's not your fault, but I know that won't help. I know you won't listen."

Gold gave her a brief, wry smile, loving the sincerity in her eyes, the compassion shining out from her.

"No," he said, because despite her love, despite her understanding, it would _always_ be his fault. He had accepted that long ago.

She sighed, and leaned in, resting her head against his chin. He tilted his head, pushing his nose into the soft woollen hat she wore, but he couldn't catch her scent, and she looked up at him from beneath long, dark lashes.

"I wish there was something I could do," she said. "I wish you didn't hate yourself so much."

He took a long, cold breath, and his fingers stroked her face as he exhaled deeply, trying to imagine that some of the bitterness and self-loathing was leaving his body on a plume of mist.

"You are not responsible for either my failings or my happiness," he said quietly, and her mouth twitched, her brow crinkling in concern.

Belle stretched up to kiss him, and he pulled her close, his mouth warm on hers. He tasted good, and she pushed him against the trunk of a large pine, its sweet, herbal scent drifting into her nose as he leant back against the fissured bark, his hands sinking into her hair. Eventually she pulled back, breathing deeply, her cheeks flushed, and he looked a little dazed.

"That was - unexpected," he said, a little breathlessly, and she smiled, nuzzling his nose with hers.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For being honest with me."

He smiled briefly. "I'm trying, Belle."

"I know." She kissed him again, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him as their lips met. The kiss was slow, deliberate, his tongue gently touching hers, his hand cradling the back of her head, and she relaxed against him with a sigh, enjoying the closeness, losing herself in reconnecting with him, however briefly. His lips pulled at hers, breaking the kiss as he leant his head back against the tree trunk, and she settled back on her heels with a contented noise. He brushed her cheek softly with a gloved fingertip, the scent of leather in her nose.

"Will you come to the cabin again?" he asked quietly, and she stepped back, out of his grip, straightening her coat.

"Not yet," she said uncomfortably. "I don't think it's time. I mean, it's not that I don't want to…"

"I understand," he said gently. "I'll be waiting, Belle. Whenever you want."

She gave him a tremulous smile, and took a further step back, away from him.

"I should go," she sighed. "Ruby and Granny should be awake by now. I said I'd help Granny with the breakfast today."

"Alright." He was watching her, his love for her shining out from his face. But there was anxiety there too, and pain, and the fear of rejection. He still thought that he didn't deserve her, that he'd lost her, and it made her heart ache that she wasn't ready, that she couldn't reassure him.

"I don't know when I can see you," she said. "I guess - I guess we'll just have to see how it goes."

"Yes." He smiled at her briefly. "Goodbye, Belle. Happy New Year."

She shrugged. "Couldn't be any worse than last year, right?"

He raised an eyebrow with a grin.

"Do you really feel that tempting fate is the way to go here?"

"I suppose not." She shuffled her feet a little awkwardly. "Well - Happy New Year to you, I guess."

He inclined his head, still with a tiny, slanting smile on his face, and turned away from her, limping slowly across the frozen ground, his feet sending up tiny puffs of fresh snow in front of him.

* * *

By the time she reached Granny's (she still couldn't quite bring herself to call it "home", even though she felt that made her seem ungrateful), Belle was cold, her fingers and toes numb and her eyes streaming. It was a relief to go into the warmth of the kitchen, where Granny was already rolling out the pastry for one of her apple pies, a dish of sliced apples beside her. She eyed Belle, gold chain swinging from the arms of her glasses as she worked the rolling pin.

"You were up early," she remarked. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I slept okay," said Belle. "As well as I ever sleep, anyway."

Granny nodded briskly, setting the rolling pin aside and picking up the sheet of pastry to line the pie dish.

"Well, I can make you breakfast, if you want to wait," she said. "I just want to get this in the oven first."

"I had some toast earlier," said Belle, and Granny snorted.

"I meant some proper breakfast, girl," she said sharply, and Belle couldn't help grinning.

"I'll wait for lunch," she said. "Is Ruby up?"

"Dead to the world," sniffed Granny, tucking the pastry into the edges of the dish. "It's like she hibernates whenever there's a holiday. Good luck trying to get her out of the door for exercise today."

"Oh, I didn't run, anyway," admitted Belle. "I went to see Papa's grave."

Granny straightened up, dusting flour from her hands.

"How are you feeling?" she asked kindly, and Belle shrugged.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I keep telling myself I have to try to take my mind off things, that I should study, or something, but focusing is hard."

"Let yourself grieve," said Granny, picking up the dish of apple slices. She glanced up at Belle as she began to lay them in the pie dish, overlapping rows of red-skinned crescents. "There'll be time enough for studying. Remember your father, and say your goodbyes. It gets easier. Eventually."

Belle recalled that Ruby's parents had both died when she was a small child, and realised that she had never asked Granny about it. She hesitated before speaking.

"I guess - I guess everyone loses their parents at some point," she said. "I can't imagine how it would be to lose a child."

Granny paused momentarily, fingers holding a crisp apple piece that wavered in the air before being placed alongside the others.

"Well, I hope you never have to suffer that," she said. "I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone."

"I felt guilty, when Papa went," admitted Belle. "Do you think that's normal?"

"Grief and guilt go hand in hand," nodded Granny. "I'm guessing you feel there's more you could have done, or that you could have spent more time with him, or been more patient. When you lose a child, that guilt is magnified. And the anger. I was angry at the whole world, it seemed. I could have torn it apart, trying to find the driver that killed them."

"Didn't anyone get caught?" asked Belle, surprised. Granny nodded grimly.

"Eventually. Some kid who'd been drinking with his friends and stole a truck. He went to prison, but it didn't bring them back. It didn't help." She sighed, looking suddenly weary. "The way I felt, I may as well have been driving that damn truck."

"But you can't blame yourself for the accident," protested Belle, and Granny's chuckle was dark.

"Oh, but you do," she said dryly. "You always blame yourself, no matter how illogical it is. If I hadn't agreed to babysit, they wouldn't have gone out. If I hadn't suggested they take an evening for themselves one time, it would never have happened. The fact that their car was hit by a kid who'd been drinking wasn't even something I thought about. Anita was _my_ daughter, so of course it was my fault."

Belle winced, picking up a small scrap of pastry and rolling it between finger and thumb as Granny scattered cinnamon and sugar over the sliced apples.

"How did you cope?" she asked, and the old woman huffed, picking up the pastry lid she had made.

"I had Ruby," she said simply. "I had someone who needed me. Someone who loved me. And it was a part of _her_ , too. A part of Anita. Ruby looks like her. Just as headstrong." She gave Belle a wry look, and Belle smiled. Granny crimped the edges of the pastry with nimble fingers.

"You'll heal," she said. "That loss will always be there, but you'll heal, I promise. You have people that love you, just as I did."

"Yeah," said Belle quietly, and Granny dusted off her hands again, stepping back to give the pie a final once-over.

"You take all the time you need to grieve your father," she said. "This world could always use more love in it, Belle."

* * *

The day passed peacefully, with roast pork and apples for dinner, warm apple pie with ice cream, and card games afterwards. Belle was pleasantly full and content when she went to bed, and she lay in the dark for a long time, thinking over what she had been told that day. She had enjoyed kissing Gold; it had felt so easy, so natural, but she had been scared of letting him back in too quickly, of shattering the fragile peace they had made, of giving him false hope when she wasn't sure what she wanted. She rolled over, tugging the covers up under her chin, remembering her conversation with Granny about love and loss. It had been seventeen years for him, and almost as long for Granny, from when each had lost their only child, and the pain was still there, the guilt still holding him in a tight, pitiless grasp. Granny's words, her explanation that having Ruby, having people she loved, had made it easier on her, made Belle wonder how it had been for Gold, whether he had had family, someone to care for, someone to love him. He had never mentioned any family, so perhaps they were gone too. She wondered how different he would be, if his son had lived. She wondered if he would think more of himself. If he would be happy.

Restless, she turned onto her back. A part of her wanted to see him, to touch him, to reassure him that she, at least, didn't hold him responsible for his son's death. She remembered the kiss they had shared at the wedding, the kisses in the graveyard, the warm feel of his lips on hers and the scent of him in her nostrils. She wanted his touch, to feel his hands on her, to feel him pressing down on her, their bodies fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. She wanted to comfort him, to be close to him, despite not being sure whether she was ready to move forward with him. She wanted to _feel_ him. Belly tightening with desire as she remembered the pleasure of his touch, she threw off the covers and stood up.

She pulled on some running clothes, her mind already forming the excuse of an early morning run, should she get back when the others were awake. It was after one in the morning, and she crept downstairs as quietly as she could, the house silent and dark. The door squeaked quietly as she let herself out, and she winced, pausing momentarily and listening hard for any movement from the bedrooms, but there was no sound other than her own breathing. Slowly, she closed and locked the door, pulling on her gloves in the freezing air.

She ran across town, the wind making her eyes stream, her hair billowing out behind her in a tangled mess, snowflakes melting on her lips and eyelids. When she reached his house, it was dark, and for a moment she considered going back, but then she spied a small light upstairs, and so she knocked on the door. It seemed to take a long time for him to answer, lights flicking on in the hallway and shadows moving behind the rippled glass as he approached. The door opened, light and warmth spilling out to meet her, and Gold stood there in his robe, belted tightly at the waist and open at his throat. She ran her eyes up from that warm patch of skin to meet his own, her heart thumping from more than the run. His mouth was slightly parted, his eyes glinting at her in the light from the hall lamps, and she licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Hey," she said weakly. "I - um…"

Without a word, he stepped to the side, holding open the door, and she almost ran inside, turning to face him as he closed and locked the door.

"It's late, Belle," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you…" she said breathlessly, and he smiled briefly.

"You didn't, I was reading." He put his head to the side. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know," she said. "I just - I needed to see you. I needed to kiss you."

He raised his eyebrows at that, but she took a step forward, and he reached for her a little awkwardly, his hands hesitant as they touched her shoulders. She was breathing hard as he bent his head to hers, his lips brushing against her, at first soft, then harder, pushing her lips apart, his tongue entering her as his hands cupped her face. Belle ran her fingers beneath the robe, fingers sliding over the solid warmth of his chest and down his sides. She pressed herself against him, and he made a noise into her mouth, a deep, contented sound that made her heart flutter. He dropped his hands to her hips, pushing her back against the wall and covering her mouth with his, and Belle moaned in pleasure as they kissed, his hands sweeping up her sides to cup her breasts. Her hands wandered, stroking over his warm skin, and she tugged at the belt of his robe, pulling it open and revealing his torso, naked above the waist of his pyjama pants. Her hand curled around, moving between his legs, and he let out a strangled gasp as she gripped the hard length of him.

" _Belle!"_ he whispered desperately, his breath hot on her face, her lips slippery with their mingled saliva and his forehead pressed to hers. She kissed him again, the taste of wine on his tongue, and she wanted to taste all of him, to take him in her mouth again and make him come. His fingers pushed through her hair, his stubble scraping her chin, and she wanted him between her thighs, wanted his mouth on her, wanted everything. He tore his mouth free and kissed down her neck, making her shiver, his tongue swiping up her throat to her ear.

"Stay the night, my love," he whispered, his words vibrating low in her chest and turning her world to heat and flame. "Stay with me."

"Yes!" she breathed, and she kissed him again, undulating against him before she pulled back and took his hand in hers. His hands were shaking a little, his breath coming hard in his chest, and he stood for a moment, calming himself, looking her over before pulling her with him towards the stairs, and his room, and his bed.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, they're making progress.**

 **Next time: Gold opens up a little more, and there's an unexpected visitor**


	22. Revelation

**A/N: Happy New Year! A very long time ago, no-foolish-wandwaving gave me a prompt. This is the chapter where I fill it.**

* * *

The bedroom was cool, but the cocoon of blankets they had made was warm around them, their skin slippery with sweat where their bodies pressed together. Belle stretched beneath Gold, feeling a lazy smile spread across her face, and murmured in pleasure as he kissed along her jawline, his stubble scratching her skin. He pressed a final kiss to her nose, slipping out of her, and she sighed happily as he rolled onto his back and pulled her with him.

"That was amazing," she said, rubbing her head against his chest. He smelt good, musk and fresh perspiration and a little of his cologne, and she ran her tongue over his skin, tasting salt. He smiled lazily, watching her through half-closed eyes.

"Well, it was certainly the best start to the New Year I can imagine," he remarked.

She swept her tongue over his nipple, making him jerk, and he brushed the tip of her nose affectionately.

"And I think I need some time to recover before doing it again," he added. "So stop that."

She grinned, and shifted her position as he sat up, propping herself up against the pillows and letting the blankets fall around her waist. He ran his hands over his face, yawning a little, and she eyed him, watching as he reached for the wineglass on his nightstand, the lamplight shining through the deep red of the wine.

"Can I have some of that?" she asked, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You're not old enough," he said, smirking at her as he took a drink.

Belle folded her arms with a glare.

"Oh, so it's okay for me to have your bloody cock in my mouth, but not your damn wine?" she demanded, and Gold choked, spraying wine all over the bedclothes.

Belle giggled at his stricken look, and he wiped crimson droplets from his chin.

" _Touché_ ," he said dryly, and handed her the glass.

She took a mouthful. The wine was rich and almost spicy, tasting of blackcurrants and pepper, and she decided that she liked it. He was watching her in amusement.

"It's nice," she said, and he shrugged.

"I could always get you a glass, since I'm going to hell anyway."

"Alright." She grinned at him, and he took the glass from her, setting it on the nightstand while he threw back the covers and pulled on his robe to go downstairs.

Belle waited, her skin still tingling from his touch, her lower body damp from his sweat and the slick feel of his seed between her legs. It was late, and she knew she should sleep, but she didn't care. They had spent most of the past hour pleasuring one another, and she was sated and content. She still felt a little awkward around him at times, usually when she started thinking about what had gone wrong between them, or when he happened to look at her with those sad eyes of his, as though guilt was uppermost in his mind. In other words, she felt awkward when they weren't actually engaged in sex, and she realised that this wasn't especially healthy. Their conversation in the cemetery had helped, had taken a few of the bricks out of the walls he had built around himself, but she was aware that there was more than his guilt over his dead son to uncover. She wanted to scrape away the mortar of his self-loathing, tug at the stones that walled him off from her and cast them aside to reach the man within. She wondered if he'd let her.

Gold came back into the room, carrying the wine bottle and a clean glass, and poured a small measure for each of them. Belle took hers, fingers curling around the cold glass. She shifted a little lower on the pillows, tugging the blankets higher for warmth, and he slipped the robe from his shoulders, draping it over the nearby chair. She watched avidly as he got into bed naked, muscles moving beneath his skin, and his brow furrowed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I like looking at you," she said, and he grinned, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I assure you the feeling is mutual." He lifted a hand, stroking her cheek gently. "Will you stay?"

"I said I would," she reminded him, and took a drink of wine. "You'll have to wake me up early, though. My plan is to pretend I've been for an early run, so I really need to be back no later than seven."

Gold nodded, putting his glass down so that he could set the alarm.

"I usually wake up early anyway," he added. "But it never hurts to be sure. Sneaking you out of the house won't be easy if we sleep in."

Belle sighed, cupping her wineglass in her hands and watching the surface of the wine ripple and swirl.

"I know this was risky," she said. "I'm sorry, I just - I had to see you."

"No more risky than the other times you've been over," he said wearily. "None of this is ideal, Belle. I know that." He took a drink, swilling wine around his mouth before swallowing. "The cabin would be - safer - I think."

"Yeah." She chewed her lip, thinking. "It's hard to get away, though. Do you think you could be there tomorrow? I could see if I can get out for a run by myself."

"I'll be there."

There was silence for a moment, and he watched her as she took a sip of wine, his eyes a little anxious.

"Are we - okay - Belle?" he asked uncertainly, and she hesitated.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Things are a little better, I think."

"I don't expect you to forgive me," he said quietly, looking away. "Or trust me. I don't deserve it, I know that."

Belle sighed, and reached up to touch his cheek and turn his head back to face her, fingers brushing through his hair, thumb stroking over his lower lip.

"Stop that," she said gently. "I love you, and I want you. The rest - we'll work it out as we go."

His mouth twitched, and he looked as though he was about to apologise again, so she leant in to kiss him. His lips were soft and warm against hers, and he let out a small contented sound through his nose, briefly resting his forehead against hers as he pulled back. Belle breathed him in, smiling slightly as he pressed a kiss to her nose, and then sat back, settling herself against the pillows and taking another drink.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For telling me about - about Neal. I know that was hard for you."

His jaw tightened, and he took a mouthful of wine, not looking at her. He swallowed hard, eyes on the bedclothes.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Did you…" She hesitated, unsure whether she would be opening up any other old wounds by asking him her questions. "Did you have any help? Family, or..?"

He gave her a wry look.

"No," he said. "As I said, Neal's mother left when he was small, ran off with some arsehole she met in the pub. Didn't stop her turning up at his funeral and screaming at me that I'd killed her baby."

"That's terrible!" protested Belle.

"Understandable, though," he shrugged, and she put a hand on his arm.

"It wasn't your fault," she said gently. He smiled thinly.

"I believe we've already had this conversation."

"Yes, and I'm still right," she sniffed. "If she cared so much, where the hell was she when you were looking after him the whole time?"

He sucked in his cheeks.

"Well, I did - raise that issue," he admitted, and ran a hand over his face, settling back with a sigh.

"I handled it badly, Belle," he said quietly. "I was in a wheelchair at the time, and her idiot boyfriend threw a punch at me. My friends had to pull me off him, but not before he'd broken a few of my ribs. Not how I wanted to bury my boy."

"Well, he sounds as lovely as she was," said Belle, getting angry on his behalf, and he waved a hand.

"Oh, he was an arsehole, forget about him. I gave as good as I got. I felt bad for her, though, angry as I was that she'd never come back to see Neal. I knew the pain of losing him."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that if Neal's mother had cared so much, she wouldn't have abandoned her child, but she swallowed the comment down.

"What about your other family?" she asked. "Do you have brothers and sisters?"

He pulled a face then. "I don't know. Never knew my mother, really, she walked out when I was two. Don't know if she had any other kids."

"I'm sorry," she said. "Bad break-up, then? I guess they didn't stay in touch."

"If they did, I never heard from her again," he said, his voice light and breezy, as though he didn't care. "But I doubt it. Dad always said she left because of me, so why would she come back?"

Belle was outraged. " _What?_ How could he _say_ that?"

"Well, it wasn't easy for him after my mother left," he explained. "He'd never wanted a kid." He took a swallow of wine, and inclined his head. "As he told me _repeatedly_."

Belle shook her head. "But...couldn't he have gotten some help? Social services, or… I mean, I don't know how it works over there, but..."

"He could have," he admitted. "But asking for help really wasn't his thing. Too proud. I think he was unemployed a lot of the time; we never really had much to eat and I remember moving house a lot, so I think he didn't pay the rent when he was supposed to. Wasted a lot on drink, too. He was kind of free with his fists when he'd had a few, so I learned to stay out of his way. Spent a lot of time in the local library. It was warm, and I could read books for free all day." He winked at her.

"Oh God." Belle squeezed her eyes shut. "Rum, I'm so sorry! Didn't anyone help?"

"No one knew," he said, rubbing his chin a little awkwardly. "A lot of the kids around where I lived got beaten to an extent. I just didn't realise how bad it was until I left. Until I had my own boy, and I wondered how anyone could ever lay a finger on a child like that."

"I can't believe no one called the authorities," sniffed Belle, furious on his behalf, and he sighed.

"Perhaps they did," he acknowledged. "I remember when I was about five or six, some woman came to the house, asking questions. I guess he told her what she wanted to hear, because no one came after that. I remember him saying…" He trailed off, looking up at the ceiling, and she noticed that his accent had thickened. "God, I haven't thought about this in _years_! I remember him saying ' _no one takes what's mine, laddie, d'ye hear?'_. I thought that meant something. That he loved me. In the end it just meant more beatings. I finally got out when I was fifteen."

He took another drink of wine, and Belle stared at him, trying to imagine what it would be like to grow up with no love, with only violence and fear to look forward to.

"Where did you go?" she asked, and his mouth twisted a little.

"Kipped on friends' floors for the most part. It wasn't so bad," he said, and looked at her briefly. "There was a teacher that helped, as well. Miss Ramsey. She was very kind to me. Talked with social services and ensured I got some accommodation. Encouraged me to study."

"I'm glad," she said. "I'm glad there was someone who cared, at least."

"It's because of her that I went to university," he added. "It's because of her that I wanted to be a teacher, once I'd made enough money that I didn't have to worry about it."

He was staring off into the distance, as though he were looking back in time to his teenage years, rolling the bowl of the wineglass between his fingers.

"Dad always said I'd never amount to anything," he said quietly. "I have to confess that there was a certain satisfaction in proving him wrong."

Belle shook her head, upset. "What kind of father says something like that? On top of telling you it was _your_ fault your mother left?"

He shrugged, as though it didn't matter, and drank, swilling the wine around his mouth before setting the empty glass down.

"He was probably right about that. By all accounts I'm a difficult man to love."

He gave her a crooked little smile as he said it, and she stared at him. She was about to tell him that he wasn't difficult to love, just difficult to _understand_. Difficult to get close to. In the end she decided that he didn't need to hear any more criticism from someone he cared for. Not right then. She sat there, chewing her lip anxiously, and he turned to her with a smile that seemed a little forced, cupping her cheek with one hand.

"It was a long time ago," he said gently.

"That doesn't mean it hasn't affected you," she said stoutly, and his smile wobbled a little.

"I hadn't really thought about it until you asked," he insisted. "So please don't concern yourself on my account, Belle."

He bent his head to kiss her, and Belle slid an arm around his shoulders as he kissed down her neck and over her breast, gently pressing his lips to the nipple before pulling back.

"Are you done with the wine?" he asked then, and she started, lifting her glass and draining it. He took it from her, setting it aside and turning off the lamps before burrowing back under the covers and pulling her against him.

"Try to sleep, Belle," he whispered. "It'll be daylight before you know it."

* * *

Gold woke early, as was his habit. The room was dark, and he smiled as he felt the warmth of a body next to his. Belle was curled by his side, one arm thrown across his waist, and although the lower half of his body was _very_ aware of her presence, he kissed her forehead gently before carefully slipping out of bed, ensuring that he didn't wake her. Pulling on his robe, he made his way downstairs in bare feet, the floorboards cold to the touch. Snow had fallen again, only a light dusting atop what was already on the ground, the frost painting lacy patterns on the window panes. He filled a kettle for tea, and got out the tea things, setting cups and saucers on a tray. Leaning on the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil, he breathed in deeply, smiling to himself. There was a lightness to him, as though some of the weight that had hung about him had shifted a little. It had been wonderful to wake up beside Belle, to have her warmth and her scent and the feel of her soft skin against his. He wished that she could be there every morning. He wished that they didn't have to sneak around. He wished that she was five years older and that no one could object to them being together. _And while you're at it you might as well wish you hadn't fucked everything up with her in the first place, you bloody idiot._

Sighing to himself and rubbing his eye, he poured water into the teapot, putting the lid on just as he heard the padding of bare feet on the floor behind him. He turned, watching Belle approach wrapped in his shirt, the dark blue silk hanging halfway down her pale thighs and the sleeves rolled up. She was yawning, her hair all over her face, and looking so beautiful that he thought he was still dreaming. She wrapped her arms around him, tucking her head under his chin, and he held her close, breathing in the smell of her hair.

"You'll get cold," he said quietly. "I was going to bring this up to bed."

"You're nice and warm," she said, and stepped back, pulling open his robe and slipping inside to wrap her arms around his naked waist. The feel of the cool silk against his skin was delightful.

"At least let's sit down," he said firmly, before he could get distracted. She needed to be home by seven, after all, and if he did what he was thinking about they would definitely miss that deadline. She grinned up at him.

"You wanna go back to bed, don't you?" she said knowingly. "I can _feel_ you, Mr Gold. Dead giveaway."

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "You're a tease, Miss French."

She kissed his nose impulsively, and pulled back, allowing him to wrap himself up again as she carried the tray of tea things to the table. He watched her set them out, all the while with what he knew was a stupid grin on his face, and she blushed slightly as she turned to him.

"What?" she asked a little self-consciously, and his smile widened.

"Nothing. You're beautiful and I love you."

Belle blinked, surprised by the bare honesty of his statement. She slid onto one of the chairs, smiling at him as he sat opposite and poured the tea, and then sat with her fingers wrapped around the cup, waiting for it to cool. He looked - happier, she thought. There was a calmness about his features, an odd serenity, although that may simply have been the lack of sleep. He was watching her, the harsh kitchen lights shining gold in his irises and catching the stubble on his cheeks and chin. She swallowed hard, wanting him again.

"So," she said. "The cabin."

He nodded, taking a sip of tea and wincing slightly. Still too hot, then.

"I'll go tonight," he said. "I'll be there all tomorrow, if - if you can get away."

"I'll try," she promised. "I want to." She smiled at him shyly, and he grinned back.

* * *

By the time she got back home, Granny was opening up the diner, and Belle ran upstairs to jump in the shower, passing a yawning Ruby on the landing.

"Wow, you're keen," remarked Ruby, rubbing her eyes. "Want some pancakes? I could use a sugar-fix before I face the day."

Once showered and fed, Belle worked a double shift, covering for Ashley, who was ill with the flu. She was trying to put in as many hours as she could before school started up again, knowing that she would need to set aside some serious study time.

"Want to do some practice S.A.T. papers tomorrow?" suggested Ruby, as they carried servings of steak and burgers out to the customers. "I didn't study like I should have over the holidays."

"You and me both," sighed Belle, smiling at Dr Whale as she set a plate before him. She straightened up, brushing a curl of hair out of her eyes. "We could go to the library. Should be quiet."

"After lunch," nodded Ruby. "It's a date."

* * *

Belle was aware that if she was going to get the cabin to see Gold, she would need to sneak out before Ruby got up. The next morning she rose at six, dressing quietly and making her way downstairs.

"Early for a Sunday." Granny's voice made her jump, and Belle turned to see her poking her head around the kitchen door.

"Couldn't sleep," she said truthfully, and Granny huffed, looking over the tops of her glasses with a severity Belle knew wasn't real.

"Don't you go running yourself into the ground," she warned. "You're too thin as it is, young lady!"

Belle smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

"I'll eat a good breakfast when I get back," she promised. "Right now I just have to - I have some stuff I need to get out of my system."

She grinned again at Granny's disapproving face, and opened the door, setting off into the cold, crisp morning.

* * *

An hour or so later, Ruby made her way downstairs, stretching and rolling her head around to work out some of the stiffness in her neck. She was feeling a little lazy and sluggish, and she knew it was because she'd been lying around for most of the holidays, so she thought it was about time she got her ass outside for some fresh air. She sat down at the bottom of the stairs to pull on her sneakers, listening for any sign of life from the rest of the inn. A clink of crockery from the kitchen made her look up, and she bounced up on her toes, putting her head around the kitchen door.

"Is Belle up yet?" she asked, and Granny looked up from the sideboard, where she was making coffee.

"Up and out that door over an hour ago," she sniffed. "Girl needs to slow down. She'll make herself ill."

"Oh." Ruby was disappointed. "Did she say where she was going? I could catch her up."

"Nope." Granny poured hot milk into her coffee, and went to sit at the kitchen table with a magazine. "Where does she usually go? Go drag her butt back here, and I'll make you girls omelettes."

Ruby pondered for a moment.

"She probably took the trail around the lake," she mused. "I'll see if I can catch her coming the other way."

Leaving the inn at a slow jog, she made her way out of town along the hiking trail, enjoying the feel of the ground beneath her feet, the rhythmic thud of her sneakers against the frozen ground. The sun was starting to rise, the horizon a pale pink striped with feathery, indigo clouds. She passed no one. Picking up the pace, she took the right fork of the trail, making her way deeper into the forest, the twittering of the few birds that were up drifting down to her from the trees. She saw no sign of Belle, but she was enjoying the run, the chill of the air that bit at her skin and burned her lungs, the pleasant aching of muscles unused to the strain after two weeks of relative indolence.

It was almost half an hour before she reached the path that she knew curled around the edge of the lake. She could smell woodsmoke, and wrinkled her nose a little as she jogged along the trail, her feet cushioned by the thick carpet of pine needles and snow. Through the reddish trunks of the trees, she could see the wooden walls of the cabin that she and Belle had looked at on their previous run, and wondered if it was the origin of the smoke. Perhaps it had an occupant, although who would come out here in the middle of winter she couldn't imagine. She made her way around the edge of the lake, imagining the owner of the cabin to be a lonely, artistic sort. A writer perhaps, retreating from a hectic life in Boston or New York to his cabin in the woods, where he'd spend the weekends tapping away on an old typewriter, creating fantasy worlds in which good triumphed and the darkness was banished. Grinning to herself, she crested the rise of the path, and took the narrow trail that she remembered ran past the cabin.

As she had suspected, woodsmoke was curling up from its chimney in bluish-grey swirls. Someone was there, then. A large black car sat outside, which was vaguely familiar to her, but Ruby couldn't quite place it. She hesitated for a moment, then trotted nearer to the cabin. It couldn't hurt to take a peek. She mounted the porch on silent feet, and crept around to the window. The light in the cabin was dim, the curtains drawn and only a crack to peer through. It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the low, warm light provided by the crackling fire and numerous candles, and for a moment she was confused by what she saw, by the tangle of limbs and the rhythmic movement of bodies, by the soft moans she could hear, muffled by the glass.

"Oh!" she whispered, clapping a hand to her mouth as she realised what she was looking at. The figures were side-on to the window, the woman's head hidden by the man's, his ass pumping slowly up and down. A nice ass, she thought appraisingly, looking it over. The woman's legs were wrapped around his back, slender, pale legs with small feet, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. His hair was longer than normal, and as he raised his head to kiss along his lover's jaw Ruby almost gasped, eyes widening. She ducked back behind the window, hand pressed against her lips as she tried to hold in her giggles. Mr Gold! Whoever would have thought the miserable bastard had it in him? She grinned to herself. Wait until she told the others! She wondered who his girlfriend was; it wasn't as though she'd ever seen him around town with anyone. Apparently people were just full of secrets, although she had to hand it to him; keeping a secret in Storybrooke wasn't easy.

Part of her knew she shouldn't be there, but she was naturally curious, and so she felt only a twinge of guilt when she turned back to the window. She only wanted to see who the mystery woman was; she definitely wouldn't be sticking around for Gold's big finish, if she could help it. The woman had unwound her legs, letting them slide down over his hips, and they rolled until he was underneath, allowing her to straddle him, her hands on his belly, dark hair hiding her face. She was tiny, noted Ruby, short and slim, but then he was small too, so they were well-matched. He reached up to touch her face, a lazy smile and what looked like true affection softening his features, and relaxed, his head rolling back as he groaned. The woman quickened her pace, and threw her head back with a cry of pleasure, dark curls bouncing as her face burst through them.

Ruby staggered back, her eyes about as wide as they could go, her heart hammering. _Belle!_ Mr Gold's girlfriend was _Belle_! Her heel went off the edge of the porch into thin air, and she fell backwards, arms windmilling helplessly before she hit the ground with a _whump_ that knocked the breath from her. She lay there for a moment in the snow, her breath coming hard, her heart thumping. Somehow she managed to push herself to her feet, and stumbled around to the side of the cabin on shaking legs, her head spinning. That bastard! That fucking _pervert!_ She was quivering with rage, her fists opening and closing. Part of her wanted to burst in there and drag him off her, but she didn't want to humiliate Belle. It was going to be difficult enough to confront her about this; having your best friend walk in on you having sex definitely wouldn't help you deal with the situation. Everything that Belle had been saying about her non-relationship suddenly made complete sense, and she was furious with herself for not having the slightest clue about what her friend had been going through.

She didn't know how long she stood there with her inner turmoil making her increasingly angry, but eventually she heard the front door open. There was a little quiet conversation that she couldn't make out, and the sound of kisses that made her blood boil, but then the door closed and she pressed herself against the wall as she heard rhythmic footfalls: Belle jogging up the path on her way back to town. Ruby squared her shoulders, stuck out her jaw, and marched around to the porch, pounding on the door. Her breath was coming hard through her nose, sending plumes of white into the freezing air, and she glared fixedly at the door as she heard him begin to open it.

"Well, this is sooner than I…"

He didn't get a chance to finish, or to do anything other than look startled at the sight of her. Ruby stepped forwards and rammed her knee upwards into his groin. He had stepped backwards instinctively, so she only caught him with a glancing blow, but even that was enough to make him slump to the floor, wheezing, his face drained of colour.

"You _fucking_ bastard!" she stormed. "All this time it was _you_! How could you _do_ this to her, you pervert! She just lost her _father_!"

"Ruby!" he breathed desperately. His hands were jammed between his legs, or she would have given him another kick. As it was, she contented herself with more insults.

"You make me fucking _sick_!" she shouted. ""What the fuck _is_ this shit? You save Aurora from Gaston, and we all love you for it. Was that some sort of ploy? You make us think you're a hero, when all the time you're banging a vulnerable young girl? You're a _fucking_ pervert, and I'm gonna make damn sure you get locked up for this!"

"Ruby!" he begged, one hand reaching for her. She kicked it away, making him gasp in pain.

"Don't you _dare_ come near Belle again!" she snapped, and ran off, fury lending wings to her feet.

* * *

Blissfully unaware of her best friend's discovery, Belle was stretching out her legs in a long, loping stride, enjoying the relaxed, contented feeling that her time with Gold had induced. They were unsure when they would be able to see one another again, but she was already thinking of ways she could sneak out at night to go over to his place. She sighed, wishing the year would pass quickly. Wishing she was eighteen.

" _Belle!"_ Ruby's voice, some way behind her, pulled her head around, made her draw to a stop.

"Oh, hey Rubes!" She grinned, waiting for Ruby to catch up. "Decided you needed some exercise after all, huh? I don't mind doing some hill sprints if you really want to…"

"I saw you!" interrupted Ruby breathlessly, her eyes flashing, and Belle frowned.

"What are you..?"

"I _saw_ you!" Ruby insisted, slowing to a stop. "I saw you with - with Gold."

Belle felt as though the breath had been stolen from her, and she shrank back a little, her heart thumping. She didn't bother asking exactly _what_ Ruby had seen.

"You don't have to worry," added Ruby fiercely. "I don't know what he's told you, or what he's holding over you, but I won't let that pervert get away with it, okay?"

Belle blinked. "W-what? No, Rubes, you don't understand…"

"What is there to understand?" demanded Ruby. "This is the guy you've been seeing, right? The one you wouldn't tell me about? It all makes perfect sense now! Why didn't you _tell_ me he was being a creepy son of a bitch? I am _so_ reporting his ass to Sheriff Graham!"

"No, no, no, Ruby please!" Belle grabbed her arm, eyes wide. "Please don't tell, I'm begging you! It's not what you think!"

"Not what I _think_?" Ruby stared at her disbelievingly, gesturing back down the trail. "Belle, I just saw the two of you very, very naked! Please tell me I was hallucinating, because believe me, I'll be very happy if you do."

"Oh. Okay, no, I didn't mean that," admitted Belle, and Ruby shook her head, white mist shooting from her nostrils in the freezing air.

"Why would you even _do_ that?" she asked. "What does that bastard have on you, honey? Just _tell_ me!"

"He doesn't have _anything_ on me!" said Belle indignantly. "And he's not - look, I know how he is at school, but he's not like that with me."

"Yeah, because he's getting in your pants!" said Ruby loudly.

Belle hesitated, wanting to share some of Gold's self-loathing, his fears and doubts, the lack of confidence that lurked behind his calm and cutting facade. She decided that it would be a betrayal of trust to reveal his inner torment out of a desire to talk her friend around.

"Rubes, I know how it must look," she said instead. "But he loves me! He wants to be with me!"

"Oh, what a pile of crap!" Ruby curled her lip in disbelief.

"I'm serious!"

"Belle, he's _using_ you, of course he'd say that!" Ruby protested.

"It's not like that!" Belle insisted. "He's - seeing him has helped, in a weird sort of way, ever since I lost Papa."

"That's my point!" said Ruby, her eyes pleading. "You're not thinking straight! And he just slithered on in like a fucking snake and took advantage of you! I hope the kick I gave him makes his balls drop off!"

"Oh, Rubes, you didn't!" complained Belle.

"Of course I did! What else was I supposed to do? He needs to be stopped!"

Belle covered her face with her hands, breathing through her gloved fingers and trying to calm herself.

"Ruby, please," she said more calmly, dropping her hands. "Would you please just let me deal with my relationship in my own way?"

"It's not a fucking _relationship_ , Belle, you're being screwed by a damn _teacher_!" shouted Ruby. "He's a sick, twisted _pervert_ for doing this to you!"

"You don't even _know_ him!" countered Belle, eyes flashing, and Ruby folded her arms, glaring.

"No," she said. "I guess I don't. All I know is what I've seen these past few months. How you've lied to me, and your other friends. How you lied to your dad. How you had to go get emergency contraception because _Gold_ couldn't fucking control himself. How he broke your damn heart and cast you aside right before your father died!"

"I _know_ all that!" shouted Belle, throwing up her arms. "You think I don't _know_? I still don't think I trust him not to break my heart again, Ruby, but we're working on it, you have to believe me!"

"What - what the hell is there to work on?" asked Ruby incredulously, one finger tapping the side of her head. "Where the hell do you think this is going? You're seventeen, Belle, and he's - he's - well, I don't know how old he is, but it's _too fucking old_ , okay? What kind of relationship could you guys have when he could get arrested for laying a hand on you, never _mind_ what the hell you two were up to in the cabin, which to be honest I'm trying not to think about because I'm already scarred for life!"

Belle glared at her, and Ruby sighed, clearly frustrated.

"Seriously, do you think he's just gonna throw away his career and run off and marry you, or something?"

"I _don't know!"_ shouted Belle. "I'm trying not to think about it, okay?"

"Belle!" Ruby grasped her shoulders, her dark eyes wide in her face, shining with concern. "Belle, _please_ , honey, I'm begging you! You're better than this! You're better than _him_!"

"I don't even know _what_ I am anymore!" blurted Belle, wrenching free. "Since Papa got sick, I don't feel as though I've been a _whole person_ , don't you see that?"

"But you're grieving," persisted Ruby. "Things _will_ get better, they will! You have to believe that!"

"But I _don't_!" pleaded Belle desperately. "I'm - I'm trying, Rubes, I swear! But I - I don't even know what I'm _doing_!" She could feel the tears stinging her eyes, and it must have shown on her face, because Ruby's expression softened.

"You don't have to know, sweetie," she said, more gently. "Belle, no one's expecting you to have your life in order right now."

"Of course they are!" snapped Belle, dashing away angry tears. "Everyone thinks the same thing, Rubes! They all think that I'm this good girl who does her homework and studies for the test and never does anything she shouldn't. They think I'm gonna ace the S.A.T.s and go off to college. I - I don't even know if I can afford to go! Even if I do I'm gonna have to work if I wanna eat."

Ruby clapped her hands to her mouth, dark eyes huge in her face.

"Oh my God," she said, her voice muffled by her gloves. "Oh my God, Belle, is he _paying_ you? Is that what this is about?"

"What?" asked Belle weakly, and ran her hand over her face with a sigh. "No, Ruby, that's not… look, I'm with him because I love him. And he loves me, you have to believe me!"

Ruby sighed too, hands on hips, and turned away, shaking her head. Finally she threw up her arms and let them fall, spinning back to face Belle.

"Look, you know I love you," she said firmly. "And I'll support the hell out of you, Belle, I will. But you're my best friend, and I reserve the right to tell you when you're making a bad decision. This is a _bad decision_!"

"Maybe," said Belle softly. "But it's still _my_ decision. Don't take it away from me, Rubes. Please."

Ruby shook her head.

"I don't understand how the hell this happened," she said tiredly. "Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you talk to me, or to Emma, or - or even Dr Hopper? Why go to _him_?"

Belle sucked in her cheeks, feeling awkward.

"I can't explain it," she admitted. "There's - a connection there. I felt it, almost from the start. Something I can't put my finger on. It's - it's powerful, and wonderful, and sometimes it really bloody hurts, but it's _real_ , Ruby."

Ruby sighed, looking at the ground, and Belle put her head to the side.

"Please, sweetie," she said gently. "Please don't report him. Please let me figure this out on my own."

Ruby grumbled under her breath, apparently wrestling with her conscience, but eventually she nodded grudgingly, opening her arms, and Belle hugged her in relief.

"I'm not gonna report him, okay?" said Ruby, her voice a little muffled by Belle's hair. "But I want you to promise me that if you ever change your mind, if you ever want to get out or you need help, you come to me and let me help you."

Belle sighed, and hugged her tighter. "I promise," she said meekly.

Ruby huffed air through her nose, her grip reassuringly tight.

"I presume no one else is to know?" she said dryly, and Belle winced.

"I'd appreciate that," she affirmed, and Ruby grunted. The hug went on a little while longer, and Belle could feel the cold of the snow beneath their feet started to seep into her.

"Okay then." Ruby pulled back, shivering a little. She looked a little nervous, grinning at Belle. "Was that our first fight?"

Belle sent her a wobbly smile. "I guess so. I still love you."

"Good. If I ever make a bad life choice, which I _know_ I will, you have permission to yell at me," said Ruby, and squeezed her arm. "Come on, let's get back, it's freezing."

They set off at a brisk jog, weaving through trees and kicking up the fresh snow, and there was silence for a moment as they made their way along the track leading back to Storybrooke.

"Did you really knee him in the balls?" asked Belle, and Ruby chuckled.

"Yup. He'll be okay, I didn't catch him properly."

"I should probably call him." Belle chewed her lip, and Ruby snorted.

"He'll be fine. Call him when we get back, if you have to. Granny asked me to drag your butt back for breakfast. She thinks you're doing too much."

She shot Belle a wry look, and Belle blushed. Ringing Gold from the privacy of her room was probably safest.

They made their way out onto the main hiking trail, picking up the pace a little, and there was silence for a while as they concentrated on the run, their breathing growing a little more laboured as the trail wound up a hill. Ruby glanced across at Belle as they crested the rise, and Belle waited for her to say whatever was on her mind.

"So, what's he _like_?" asked Ruby eventually. "Sexually, I mean?"

Belle groaned, and picked up the pace, leaving Ruby cackling in her wake.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, one person knows (and probably needs brain bleach)**

 **Yes, the prompt from no-foolish-wandwaving was Ruby finding out about them.**

 **Next time: School starts up again, and Ruby and Gold have a conversation.**


	23. Insecurity

**A/N: So, Ruby now knows about Belle and Gold (and found out in a way she would really rather not have).**

* * *

By the time Belle and Ruby got back to the diner, they were both out of breath and sweating profusely. Ruby was just ahead of Belle, so got to take a shower first, and Belle shut herself in her room and pulled out her phone to call Gold. She had been worried about him ever since Ruby had told her what she'd done, but hadn't felt comfortable calling him at the time. She was nervous, unsure what to say to him, and desperately hoping that he wasn't about to use Ruby's newfound knowledge as another indication that their relationship was doomed.

Fingers trembling a little, she pressed the number she knew was his; she hadn't saved a name to it, just in case someone else should pick up her phone. The call went straight to voicemail, and Belle cursed the poor reception out at the cabin. Gold's calm voice washed over her, the message brief and impersonal. The beep seemed to drag on forever, but eventually there was silence, a void into which she could speak, could explain things. She was tongue-tied, her throat closing up as she tried to find the words.

"Hey," she said eventually. "It - it's me." She licked her lips, her mouth oddly dry. "Look, Ruby won't say anything. She promised, so - so please don't worry. I'm gonna talk to her. Explain things. It'll be okay."

She sighed, wanting to say more, but uncomfortable with pouring her heart out into the emptiness of his voicemail inbox.

"I - um - I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she said then. "Bye. I love you."

She pressed the little red symbol to terminate the call, and threw the phone down on her bed, pacing her room in agitation. The next day was school. They would both be there, and she was determined to get to him and clear the air before he could do something stupid.

* * *

Once she had showered, and eaten breakfast, she and Ruby decided to spend the day studying. She was well aware that she hadn't been spending the time on her school work that she needed to, but she had been finding it hard to motivate herself. They took their books off to the library on the college campus a little way out of town, which was thankfully empty except for one very stressed-looking young man with headphones on, twitching hands and a pile of books that hid his face from view. Ruby marched to the other end of the room, where she and Belle could spread out their books on two of the desks set there. She eyed Belle.

"So," she said softly. "Did you speak to Gold?"

Belle shook her head. "Got his voicemail. I suppose I'll speak to him tomorrow."

"Hm." Ruby opened up one of the books. "I guess you'll be coming back to class, huh?"

Belle hesitated, feeling guilty for having lied.

"It - wasn't the insurance," she admitted, and Ruby looked up curiously.

"What?"

"Carella and Astrid," said Belle softly. "It wasn't the insurance. It was Gold. He arranged it. Paid for everything."

Ruby blinked. "What? Why?"

Belle cast a look over her shoulder, ensuring there was no one near.

"After the first time - well, okay, the second time - he thought it would be best if I didn't have to see him. He was trying to push me away."

Ruby snorted quietly. "Well, _that_ worked!"

Belle blushed. "Yeah, I kind of - I kind of yelled at him and then jumped on him."

Ruby chuckled with reluctant amusement. "Okay, so he's the one that's been paying for the help you had and the tutoring? Guy's going up ever so slightly in my estimation."

"I don't think I could have coped without Astrid," admitted Belle. "Not that I feel I coped very well, you know, but without her help - God, Rubes, I'd have been lost."

"Okay, you made your point." Ruby gave her a dry look. "I'm willing to be persuaded that he may actually think about something other than his penis, okay? Shall we start with English?"

Belle nodded, spreading out some of the practice S.A.T. papers she had brought and getting out pencils. Ruby checked her watch.

"We'll do this practice paper, then we'll get started on that essay," she announced quietly. "When the time hits ten-thirty, okay?"

There was around four minutes to go, and Belle tapped nervously on the desk with a pencil. Ruby was watching her.

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked softly. Belle sighed.

"I don't know," she admitted. "He says he wants to be with me, properly, but I don't know how we can do that right now. I guess - I guess this time next year I can do what I want."

"He'll still be your teacher," Ruby pointed out. "People will still call him a pervert, you know that, right?"

"I know," Belle sighed. "I know, and he knows. It's not like that, Rubes, honestly. If you knew the things he's shared with me, what his life was like…"

"Everyone has a sob-story," said Ruby dismissively. "Especially guys trying to get in your pants."

"Well, he didn't have to try by that point," said Belle a little stiffly. "I just think he finds it hard to open up, to let people in. It was difficult for him to talk about."

"And you're sure you want to take that on?" Ruby held up her hands as Belle glared at her. "Hey, I'm just trying to be the voice of reason, here! Best friend's duty."

"Shhh!"

Both girls jumped as the young man sitting several desks away glared at them. Ruby gave him a wide, disarming smile and he turned back to his books, muttering. Ruby grinned more widely and turned back to Belle.

"So, how many times have you two - y'know?" she whispered, and Belle blushed.

"I don't know. Lots. It's amazing. We went to the cabin a couple of times, it was nice to spend the night with him. I wish I could do that more often."

"Hmm." Ruby tapped a pencil against her lips. "I guess you'll be wanting my help with something like that, then?"

Belle beamed. "Do you mean it?"

"I'm not promising anything," Ruby warned. "I should probably have a word with him first. No one takes advantage of my best girl, understand?"

Belle hugged her, and Ruby grunted, squeezing back before sitting up and tapping her watch.

"Okay, let's get on with this crap," she said.

* * *

Gold had slept badly, haunted by disturbing dreams, shapes of things long past that were chasing him, grabbing at him, hurting him. It was a relief to wake in the safety of his own bed. To wake alone. Running his hands over his face, he let out a heavy sigh as he chased away the night terrors. Shadows had long lurked in the depths of his mind, grown fat and malevolent on the dark and loathsome things they found there, but he had kept them sealed up tight in boxes and cases, a hoard of dusty, forgotten luggage in a boarded up attic. Then Belle had entered his life, with her love and her curiosity and her questions, and with the complete lack of understanding that came from having had a childhood filled with nothing but love and acceptance and belonging. She had pried open the packing crates and leather-bound trunks in which he kept his demons, forcing nails to squeak and groan, unfastening stiff leather straps, the lids moving upwards and allowing the shadow-creatures to stretch their dark and probing fingers into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, running his hands through his hair. Enough. He had dealt with them once, and he would do so again. Pushing himself out of bed, he headed for the shower. The school term was about to start, after all. Belle would be there. Belle and - him. At least she wouldn't be in his class. That was something.

* * *

Belle woke early on the first day of school, the sounds of the diner already starting below her. After a quick breakfast she and Ruby left the diner with coffees in hand, catching up with Mary and Emma on the way. Emma chatted happily about her New Year celebrations, and she and Mary pressed Ruby and Belle for details of the wedding they had attended. Belle was happy to let Ruby take the lead on that discussion, and listened with half an ear as she walked, remembering the dance she had shared with Gold, the way he had held her, and kissed her. The feel of him against her and the thrilling fear of being caught.

Once they reached the school she excused herself, saying she had to go to the library, which earned nods from Mary and Emma and a long, knowing look from Ruby. She trotted up the stairs on her way to the teachers' offices, books clutched to her chest, avoiding eye contact with most of those she passed. A few teachers went by, one of them Mr Milliner, who eyed her and gave her a brief grin. She remembered that she and Ruby had seen him kissing the Sheriff, and wondered if they were dating. Turning into the corridor that held the teacher's offices, she could hear shouts and whoops from students outside; a soccer game was being played on the frozen ground, and there was a thud and a yell as the ball hit someone. Belle knocked a little hesitantly at Gold's office door and, at the muffled response, pushed it open. Gold looked up from where he was writing something, his eyes shadowed and his face a little drawn. He hadn't been sleeping again, that much was obvious. She shut the door behind her with a click, fingertips lingering on the cool metal of the handle.

"Hey," she said, a little awkwardly, and he let out a tiny breath through his nose, almost a sigh, his cheek twitching briefly.

"Hello, Belle," he said quietly.

She hated it when he was like that, all calm despondency and terrible sadness. It made her anxious, made her worry that he would once more push her away. His outfit wasn't helping; he was wearing the same unrelieved black he had worn on that fateful day when he had broken both of them almost beyond repair, and for a moment she felt that cold, invisible hand reach inside her chest once more, a ghostly brush against the beating warmth of her heart. She set down her bag of books, trying to shake off the sense of foreboding, the fear of losing him.

"Did - did you get my message?" she asked softly, and he nodded wearily, looking down at whatever he was writing.

"I did, eventually," he said. "Not much signal at the cabin, you understand."

"I remember." She wished he would stop writing. She wished he'd look at her.

"Ruby won't say anything," she said, as though he hadn't just confirmed that he had heard her message. "She doesn't understand what there is between us, but she won't give us away."

His pen was poised on the paper, a blossom of red ink spreading around the nib where it dug into the page, and she thought his hand was trembling a little, his cheeks hollowing slightly as he swallowed. The bright shouts of the soccer players were muffled by the window, the collective groan at a missed opportunity undercutting the errant cheers of the opposing team.

"We talked a lot about it," Belle went on, feeling uncomfortable, like she was babbling. "I think - I think I might actually have kind of an ally in this, weird as it seems."

She let out a short, nervous laugh, which died as he looked up, his eyes dark and filled with sadness.

"She kicked me in the bollocks and called me a fucking pervert," he said dryly, and Belle shifted her feet.

"Yeah, she told me," she muttered. "Sorry about that."

Gold put his pen down carefully, sitting back in his chair, the light glinting off the gold pin keeping his black silk tie straight.

"Why?" he asked calmly. "What did she say that was untrue? There's certainly nothing for which either of you need apologise, Belle. She's a good friend to you."

"I know." Belle ran a hand through her hair with a sigh. "She's finding it hard to understand, though. She thinks you're just using me."

"Yes." He looked down again, his voice almost a whisper. One fingertip rolled the glossy black shaft of the fountain pen back and forth on the paper. "Well, I can't blame her for that. Isn't that what anyone would think?"

"I don't _care_ what people think!" said Belle sharply. "I love you! And I know you love me, so don't you _dare_ try to pretend you don't!"

She could feel herself getting stressed, her heart thumping with it, her worry over what he would try to do. _For her own good_. The thoughts were bitter in her mind, fluttering like tiny winged demons, clawing their way into her brain and feeding on her fears. The noise outside reached a crescendo, cut off by the shrill sound of a whistle. Game over. Gold closed his eyes, taking a breath.

"Belle..." he began with a sigh.

" _No!"_ she snapped, lifting a hand, palm outwards, cutting him off. Her voice was lower than normal, deep with emotion, trying to summon all the authority she could throw at his stupid head.

"Don't you dare!" she continued, shaking a finger at him. "Don't you _dare_ do this to me again, do you hear me? I won't believe it!"

"Belle…" he said gently, and she shook her head fervently.

"I said I won't _believe_ it, weren't you listening? You can just shut up! I will _not_ hear about how you don't want me and you don't love me, because it'd be a fucking lie and we _both_ know it! I will _not_ hear about how I should find someone my own age like I'm some idiotic girl who doesn't know her own bloody mind! Don't you _dare_ pull away from me because you're scared!"

"Belle…" He held up both hands, making calming gestures that only served to anger her further. "Sweetheart…"

" _Don't_ call me that!" she snapped. "Don't call me that if you're thinking about ending it, understand? I can't go through that again, Rum, I can't! I - I can't…"

She trailed off, tears welling in her eyes, and shifted from foot to foot, looking at the floor so she wouldn't have to see his sad, terrifyingly calm gaze. She heard him get out of his chair, and she refused to look up, two fat tears falling to the floor and splashing on the slate grey carpet. She felt his hands grip her shoulders.

"Sweetheart," he said gently, and her mouth twisted.

"Please, Rum," she whispered. "I can't - I can't do that again, I'm not strong enough."

He pulled her against him, her head tucked under his chin and his arms around her. Belle let her head rest against his warm chest, a shuddering sigh escaping her, tears soaking into his shirt. One of his hands gently stroked her hair.

"You're the strongest person I have ever met," he said quietly, his voice a low, warm buzz against her. "And I am weak, Belle."

She breathed in his scent, the familiar smell of musk and spice calming her a little.

"Don't do this," she whispered, and felt a sigh leave him, his chest rising and falling against hers.

"Belle," he breathed. "Please don't cry, not over me. I'm not going to do that, I promise you. I'm not going to do the right thing. I tried once, and it almost killed me."

Belle shuddered, trying to calm herself, and the warmth of his body surrounded her, comforting her.

"I know that I should let you go," he went on. "I know that I shouldn't try to keep you. But I need you."

Belle tried to speak, a sob escaping her, and his grip tightened. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, rubbing his cheek against her, inhaling deeply.

"I need you," he whispered. "I need your strength. Now more than ever. I will always need you, Belle. I will always love you, no matter the cost."

Belle sobbed again, and he pressed kisses to her cheek, along her jaw, before releasing her from his arms and putting his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back a little so that he could look into her eyes.

"And I will always let you go if you choose," he added softly. "But I will never try to make that decision for you again, do you understand?"

Relief surged through her, and she reached up to cup his cheek, her heart overflowing with love for him. She could barely trust herself to speak, and so she kissed him, the salt of her tears on their lips and in their mouths and his fingers in the soft waves of her hair. His tongue entered her, and she moaned gently, clutching at him, wanting him. He kissed her hungrily, and she pressed herself against him, her hands sliding down his body and around his waist. He stepped forward, pushing her back against the doorframe, and she could feel the way he was swelling, growing hard. Her belly crawled with desire; she slipped a hand between them, her fingers grazing across the smooth wool of his pants, and he gasped into her mouth, breaking the kiss and pulling back.

"Enough!" he whispered. "Enough, Belle. We can't do this here."

She sighed, leaning back against the door, still breathing in the smell of him as his forehead pressed against hers. His lips were hovering over her own, their soft skin featherlight, brushing over hers.

"I know," she said softly, and he straightened up, his fingertips brushing over her cheeks.

"I should - I should get to class," she said, and he nodded, his breath cool on her skin.

"As should I. When will I see you?"

"I don't know." She twisted out of his arms, straightening her skirt. "I'm going to the library with Ruby tonight. I really need to get some studying done if I'm to have a chance at the S.A.T.s."

"You know you could always sit them later in the year," he said, and she shrugged.

"I know. I think I'd rather get it out of the way."

"As you wish." He stepped back behind his desk, away from her. "When does Carella start teaching you again?"

"She's still on honeymoon," said Belle. "I think she gets back next week, so, then, I guess."

"Very well." He smiled up at her, his eyes weary. "If you can get away, call me."

"Right." She wavered for a moment, picking up her bag of books. "I'll - I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Belle."

She slipped out of the door, his brief smile and his sad eyes the last thing she saw before closing it, and she hoped and prayed that whatever his conscience told him was the right thing to do, he would continue to ignore it.

* * *

"Equilibrium." Gold's voice filled the room, his tongue rolling the 'r' slightly as he spoke, and two dozen pairs of eyes watched him from behind their desks. Ruby tapped her pen on the desk, irritated. It was Wednesday. Belle was in the library, as her tutor was not yet back from honeymoon, and she had wanted to catch up on S.A.T, revision. So Ruby was left to attend Gold's classes with the others, wondering whether her knee had put him off any further sexual congress with her best friend. The man was the picture of suave, well-dressed self-assurance, even if his eyes were a little shadowed, and although he had caught her eye for a moment when she walked in, his face was calm and cool. It made her want to knee him again.

"Who can explain what that means in the field of chemistry?" he went on. "Miss Blanchard?"

Mary sat a little higher in her chair, flicking her dark hair back as she spoke.

"It's a state of stability, and there are two kinds," she said, frowning slightly as she tried to remember the reading. "The first is static equilibrium, due to a lack of change, and the other is dynamic equilibrium, which is a balance between opposing forces."

"Excellent." Gold's eyes left Mary and fixed on Ruby, and she scowled a little. "And how do we assess the effect of changes on chemical equilibrium, Miss Lucas?"

"I don't know," she said loudly, and his eyes narrowed.

"Yes you do," he said quietly. There was silence in the classroom, the other students picking up on the atmosphere between them, and Ruby sighed in frustration.

"Fine!" she grumbled. "Where a system at equilibrium is subjected to change, like an outside influence, or whatever, then the system readjusts itself to counteract the effect of the change and find a new equilibrium."

Gold showed his teeth.

"There," he said softly. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Ruby glared at him, and he turned away from her.

"Who came up with the principle that deals with such changes?" he asked then. "Mr Nolan?"

"Er…" David looked at Mary's notes hurriedly. "Chal - Charlemagne?"

"Le Chatelier," whispered Mary, and Gold rolled his eyes.

"Well, I can see who's the brains of this particular coupling," he said dryly. "Well done, Miss Blanchard. Again." He folded his hands over his cane. "Now, I have placed a worksheet on your desks. Listed are a number of chemical equations where there has been an increase in pressure, temperature or concentration. Please work through these in pairs to find the answers. I will be walking around the class to assist."

He turned away, and Ruby scowled at his back. Belle no longer had the desk next to hers, so she moved places and sat with Emma.

"Fucking asshole," she muttered under her breath.

"Careful," breathed Emma. "He has ears like a damn wolf. Didn't you do the reading, or something? Sounds like you did."

"No, I did, it's just - never mind." Ruby waved a hand. "Let's get on with this."

They bent their heads over the sheets, the class quiet except for whispered voices, the scribbling of pencils, and Gold's uneven tread on the tiled floor. Ruby felt his presence as he loomed over them.

"No, no, girls, you need to account for the additional hydrogen," he explained. "What would be the result of adding more hydrogen to this?"

"I don't know," said Ruby sharply. "Maybe nothing happens, who cares?"

Emma hissed air through her mouth, shaking her head, but Ruby didn't care. Gold eyed her calmly.

"Take that attitude in your exams, and you'll have the pleasure of my company for the foreseeable future," he said dryly. "I'm sure neither one of us wants that."

"These questions are impossible!" she objected, knowing she was talking crap, but feeling the need to yell at him about something she could actually voice in a classroom full of other students.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said dismissively. "You're more than capable of answering every single question on that paper, Miss Lucas. Get on with it. Just obey the rules, and you'll be fine."

His answer stoked her fires, made her seethe. He had the _nerve_ to talk to her about _rules_?

"Why?" she asked, somewhat belligerently. "Why should I obey your stupid rules if I don't want to?"

Gold looked at her steadily, his eyes dark with something she couldn't define. Anger, perhaps. Well, good!

"I don't make the rules, Miss Lucas," he said calmly. "I merely teach them. Be so kind as to apply them when you produce the piece of work that _you should currently be getting on with_."

His knuckles had tightened on the handle of his cane, the skin white, and Emma and Mary exchanged a look. Several of the other students slipped a little lower in their seats, sensing that Gold was losing patience.

"But rules are there to be broken, right Mr Gold?" said Ruby, smiling sweetly. "Isn't that the whole point of experimenting? Of trying something new? Who cares what the laws say?"

He studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"The examiner marking your finals will care," he said evenly. "This is chemistry, Miss Lucas. Laws are there to make sense of things. They are not arbitrary, nor are they optional."

"So you don't think that going against them is kind of exciting?" she pressed, bouncing the end of her pen against her lower lip. "The thrill of doing something forbidden? Gotta be a bit of a turn-on, am I right, _sir_? Who cares if it all blows up in your face and someone gets badly hurt?"

Gold continued to eye her with that unsettling gaze of his, his jaw tightening.

"I have no intention of allowing anything to blow up," he said, his voice cold. "Now get on with your work, all of you."

The students turned to their books, and he walked back to his desk, opening up his leather case to put in the sheaf of homework papers he had collected from them.

"Miss Lucas, please see me after class," he added mildly, and Ruby scowled.

Emma nudged her.

"Why the hell are you flirting with Gold?" she whispered, and Ruby almost choked.

" _What?"_ she squeaked. "I was _not_!"

"Seriously?" remarked Emma. "Talking about rule-breaking being a bit of a turn-on? The thrill of the forbidden? You may as well go on over and give him a lap dance."

Ruby was too outraged to speak, her desire to defend herself warring with disgust at the thought of giving Gold anything but another kick to the groin. Mary stifled a giggle.

"Get on with your work!" snapped Gold, glaring at their table, and Ruby bent over her notes, flushing.

They worked in silence for half of the lesson, Gold pointing out where they were going wrong, and by the end of it they had grasped the concepts he was trying to show them. Ruby grumbled under her breath, but she had to admit that he was a good teacher. Despite the fact that she was still furious with him, she had a far greater understanding of the principles by the time the lesson ended. _Damn him_ , she thought, as she packed up her things.

Gold waited until the last student had left the class, then walked to the door, closing it and shutting out the noise from the corridor. He walked back slowly, his cane tapping on the floor, and positioned himself beside his desk, his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands folded over the handle of his cane. Ruby crossed her arms beneath her breasts, feeling mutinous.

"So," he said quietly, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "It appears that you and I need to have a conversation."

She curled her lip. "I'm not ratting you out to Graham, if that's what you're worried about."

"So Belle tells me." He watched her steadily, and she grinned at him, raising an eyebrow.

"How's your junk today?" she asked sweetly, and his eyebrows drew down.

"Don't test me, dearie," he said quietly. "You are Belle's closest friend, and a good friend to her, too. I respect that."

Ruby scowled. "Yeah, well, you don't exactly respect the law, do you?"

"I understand that you want to protect Belle," he said calmly. "Strangely enough, that's also what I want. I already pushed her away once."

"Pushed her _away_?" Ruby glared at him. "You broke her _heart_!"

"I know." He looked at the ground, and she was surprised to see guilt on his face. "I felt no pleasure in doing it, believe me. I was trying to protect her."

"Yeah, well you didn't try hard enough," she said bluntly. "If you'd just stayed away, if you'd left her alone, she would have healed. Eventually."

"Perhaps." His voice was quiet. "I won't do that again, though, so if that's what you're hoping for, you're wasting your time. I'll be here for her as long as she wants me."

Ruby scowled. "Why can't you find someone your own age? Or at least, you know, legal?"

Gold gave her a long, flat stare, his fingers drumming on the cane handle.

"I don't blame you for thinking the worst of me," he said. "I've no doubt I deserve it. However, I want you to know that I love Belle very much, and I have no intention of hurting her again."

Ruby sniffed, unimpressed.

"Look, I told her I wouldn't report you, for her sake," she said. "The moment she changes her mind, all bets are off, okay?"

"Understood." His lips twitched in amusement, and she nodded, wrenching open the door.

"Oh, Miss Lucas?" he called, and she paused with her back to him. "Speak to me that way in class again and I'll be putting you in detention for a month, are we clear?"

Biting back a retort, Ruby stomped out, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Belle had noticed that Ruby was cross about something as soon as she caught up with the others after school. Emma lost no time in telling her how Ruby had argued with Gold in front of everyone, and was now seen as something of a legend. Ruby shot Belle a look that promised an update when they were alone, and sure enough when Emma and Mary had gone and they were almost at Granny's, Ruby turned to her, walking backwards with her books clutched in front of her.

"So I yelled at him a bit," she confirmed. "Nothing terrible, I just asked why he couldn't find someone his own age and how his junk was feeling."

Belle groaned. "Great. At least tell me he didn't give you detention."

"Not this time." Ruby sighed, turning back to walk by Belle's side again. "Look, for what it's worth I think he actually does care about you. Don't know if that's enough to risk everything over, but hey, I'm just the voice of reason here. You crazy kids want to end up with him arrested, who am I to stand in your way?"

"Yeah, well, I hope it never comes to that." Belle hugged her own books, shoving her chin down into her scarf as she walked. "What about us spending some time together? Did you have any more thoughts on that?"

"You mean did I think of possible ways you and he can meet up and bang?" asked Ruby dryly. "A couple, actually. I could go shopping with Emma on Saturday and we can tell Granny you're coming too. That gives you the day. Maybe the night if we have a sleepover. I'm seeing Peter on Friday, so that's out, but you could always tell Granny you'll be 'studying at the library' all evening."

"True." Belle pondered the options. "Maybe I'll 'study at the library' tonight, instead."

Ruby cackled. "Girl, are you that desperate? Gold must be good."

"You have _no_ idea." Belle grinned, blushing, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, and I don't want to. Okay, we'll tell Granny we're studying tonight, and I can see Peter, and you can see Gold, deal?"

"Deal."

* * *

It was after seven that evening when Belle knocked on the door of the pink house, her belly taut with nerves and the first stirrings of desire. She rushed inside as Gold opened it in his shirtsleeves, his eyebrows jerking upwards as he stepped back.

"Hey," she said breathlessly. "Ruby and I told Granny we were studying at the library until late, but she's with her boyfriend and I'm - well - here."

She pulled off her hat and gloves and bent to tug off her boots.

"How long do you have?" His voice was warm and calm, a little rougher than normal. It made her squirm with pleasure.

"We agreed to be back for eleven," she said, straightening up and looking him in the eye. "Shall we go upstairs, or would you rather drink tea and discuss the weather?"

He blinked at her, and then a smile spread across his face, and he gestured to the stairs.

"After you, Miss French."

She made her way up, hearing him follow her, and stomped into the bedroom, unbuttoning her coat and shrugging it off. She was surprised to find that she was shaking a little, and she wondered if it was because of their misunderstanding earlier that week. Her hands paused, fingers on the buttons of her shirt, and she chewed her lip as she thought it over. She wondered whether her need, her desperation for his touch, was due to her love for him and the way he made her feel, or whether it was conjured up by her fears of losing him, her need to hold onto him, and that quiet, nagging feeling that would never quite leave her alone. The feeling that he could easily break her heart again.

"Let me do that." His quiet voice cut through her thoughts, and then he was there in front of her, gently pulling open the buttons and pushing the shirt from her shoulders. Belle let it fall, her arms flying up to cover her breasts protectively, her eyes on his belt buckle. Gold paused, his hands on her shoulders, his touch warm against her exposed skin.

"Sweetheart," he said softly. "Are you alright? You're shaking."

Without answering, she reached behind her to unhook her bra and let it fall, feeling his fingers gently caress her cheek. Whatever the hell she was feeling, it could take a hike. She needed him. She needed to have him inside her and his arms around her, and not to start over-analysing everything she couldn't control. At least she could control this. Clenching her jaw, she tugged at his belt, pulling the leather strap through the buckle and unfastening it before turning her attention to the buttons of his shirt.

"Belle," he whispered. "What is it?"

She continued unbuttoning the shirt, and he laid his cane by the dresser, grasping both her wrists in one hand and using his other to lift her chin so that she had to look at him. His eyes were dark and warm as whisky, still with a sadness in them, but there was tenderness there too, and his finger stroked her cheek.

"We don't have to do this," he said gently. "We - we really could just drink tea and talk about the weather. I don't just want you for this."

"I need this," she said stubbornly. "We can talk later, okay? Are you going to kiss me or not?"

He looked at her searchingly, but released her wrists, and Belle continued unbuttoning his shirt as he lowered his mouth to hers. She got the shirt open, pushing it from his shoulders as she kissed him hungrily, and he pulled her close, reaching behind to unzip her skirt and let it fall. She moaned as he cupped her rear with his hands, squeezing gently, pulling her tight so that she could feel him hard against her. He pulled his mouth from hers, kissing down her neck, and she clung to him as he swept his tongue over her pulse, her eyes closing in pleasure.

"Take me to bed," she whispered, and moaned as he sank his teeth into her.

"My pleasure," he rasped, and tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. His breath made her shiver, and he whispered his next words to her. "I can take you to bed, my sweet, if that's what you want. I can take you to bed and fuck you hard and make you come until you beg me to stop."

Belle moaned, her abdomen clenching, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she hung onto him.

"But afterwards," he added, his voice still a rough rasp in her ear. "Afterwards, you and I need to have a conversation, do you hear me?"

"Shut the hell up, Gold," she whispered, and pulled out of his arms, crawling onto the bed and turning around to slide off her tights and underwear. He was watching her with an inscrutable expression, his face almost blank except for the fire in his eyes, and he unfastened his pants before gesturing with a finger, a circular movement of the tip.

"Get on your knees," he said quietly, and excitement flared in her as she turned onto her hands and knees and felt his weight sink into the mattress behind her. His hands stroked up her sides, his touch light, making her shiver as he reached around to cup her breasts. Belle gasped at his touch, groaning as he squeezed her nipples.

"How's that?" he asked. "Do you want me to touch you?"

She nodded desperately, and his right hand slid down her side, over her hip and down between her legs from behind, two fingers searching, stroking. He ran his touch over the soft folds, finding wetness and heat, and she moaned at the feel of him, the gentle press of fingertips.

"Oh, Belle!" he breathed. "All mine! All of this sweet honey is mine."

"Yes!" she gasped, and let out a cry as he slipped his thumb into her, his two fingers still stroking her clit, rubbing and circling and making her want to scream. His thumb pushed and thrust, but it wasn't enough, would never be enough, and she hissed in appreciation as he slid the two fingers inside her.

"God, you feel good!" he growled, and she felt him press up against her, pulling out his fingers and guiding himself into her with a deep groan. " _Fuck_ , that's amazing!"

She couldn't speak. She merely nodded, feeling his fingers trace a wet trail across her hip to slip down between her legs from the front. He was all the way inside her, pushing in as far as he could go, and she was shaking from the feel of it, from how hard and deep he was and the feel of his fingertips dancing over her swollen clit. His other hand slid up her back, stroking through her hair, plunging into it and wrapping it around his fingers as he pulled her head back, and Belle cried out, pushing herself upwards, squeezing him tight inside her as his hand left her hair, crossing over her chest to grab at her breast, his other hand still working between her legs. She was close, so close, and she moved against him as he stroked her, feeling the hard length of him sliding in and out, his lips on her ear, his breath hot and ragged.

"I love you, Belle," he whispered. "I love you so, so much, please believe me!"

The sincerity in his voice, the emotion, made her want to cry. She wished that she trusted him more. She wished that she could let go of what had happened between them and just enjoy being with him. She reached up, cupping his face with her hand, feeling his sweat on her palm, and turned her head towards him for a brief, messy kiss. His fingers were rubbing in a steady rhythm, opening out around his cock where it pushed in and out of her, and she could feel her breath quickening, her heart thumping, the sensations building inside her until she came with a sharp cry, falling forwards onto her hands as he quickened his pace. She continued to let out tiny cries in time with his thrusts, stars exploding in her vision, and she could feel his own orgasm approaching, his cock hard and rigid inside her.

"Oh Belle!" he whispered desperately. "Oh, my love, I have to - _fuck_!"

He thrust into her with a long, low groan, and she felt him pulse, felt the heat flow into her body from his. Exhausted, she collapsed onto her forearms, and he slowly pulled out of her before lying down on top of her, pressing soft kisses to her shoulders, his hands in her hair, sticky from her juices.

"I love you," he breathed. "I love you, I love you!"

"I know," she whispered. And she did, she did know that he loved her. She wished he had a tenth as much love for himself.

He slid off her onto his side, his hand stroking over her rear, and she turned to face him, sliding her arm around his waist and breathing in the heady scent of him. He lifted a hand to her face, gently brushing a curl behind her ear.

"Well then," he said quietly. "How about we have that talk, now? I think we need it, as clearly whatever I said to you the other day didn't ease your mind."

Belle looked down, concentrating on an area below his chin. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she wanted to kiss his Adam's apple, to run her tongue down into the hollow below.

"Okay," she said, and raised her eyes to his. "Can we have a glass of wine?"

His expression was a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"You want me to get you drunk before we discuss this?" he said flatly, and she pinched his rear, making him start.

"Of course not. I just want to have a glass of wine with my - with you."

She stumbled over what to call him. _Boyfriend_ sounded utterly ridiculous, given that he was older than her father. Older than her father _had been_ ; she wasn't sure she would ever get used to referring to him in the past tense, and the thought made her sad. Gold stroked her nose, breaking her out of her brief melancholy.

"It's a school night, Miss French," he said sternly, and she giggled.

"I'm aware of that, Mr Gold."

She arched a brow at him, and he stared at her for a moment, then sighed and rolled away from her, getting off the bed and pulling on his pants.

Gold grasped his cane and made his way downstairs in bare feet, the air cool on his naked skin. The fire he had lit in the lounge had burned low, and he took a detour to put some more wood on it, poking the embers into life until the dry logs caught, yellow-orange flames licking over the rough wood. Perhaps he should bring her down here, wrapped in a blanket, so they could sit by the fire and talk it out. He had thought she was unusually agitated on Monday when they spoke, immediately assuming that he was going to end things, and he supposed he couldn't blame her. How much of her anxiety was down to her still going through the grieving process, and how much was due to him being a massive arsehole was up for debate, but if he could put her mind at rest in any way, he would.

Fire now burning happily, he went through to the kitchen, taking a good bottle of wine from the rack and uncorking it with a pop. His phone, face down on the kitchen counter, buzzed loudly, and he turned it over with a careless hand as he went to get two glasses out of the cupboard. The message flashed up, screaming at him, and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach.

 _RUMFORD ALISTAIR GOLD! WE BLOODY WELL NEED TO TALK AND YOU HAD BETTER HAVE A BLOODY GOOD EXPLANATION BEFORE I BLOODY WELL KILL YOU!_

Gold sighed. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.

* * *

 **A/N: Uh-oh.**

 **Next time: Yeahhhh, it's possible Gold is going to get yelled at…**


	24. Condemnation

**A/N: When I started writing this chapter, I fully intended for Belle and Gold to talk things out and be in a good place. Then they opened their mouths. Sorry.**

* * *

Carella's angry message glared up at him, almost spitting with indignation, and Gold tapped his fingers against the phone. He couldn't think of anything in particular he had done to incur her wrath, and so could only assume that he hadn't been as circumspect at the wedding as he had hoped. Frowning, he hesitated, fingers poised over the phone, debating whether to call and find out exactly how dead he was likely to be. In the end, he turned it off, figuring that her anger wasn't going anywhere and he would be better equipped to deal with it in the morning. Dammit. Damn it all to hell.

Muttering to himself, he poured two glasses of wine, and held the bowls between fingers and thumb, grasping his cane with the other hand and making his way upstairs. Belle had burrowed under the covers, peeping up at him with her knees drawn up and her arms folded across them. She held out her hands to take the glasses from him as he took off his pants and got back into bed. Propping himself up on pillows, he tugged the covers around his waist, took the glass she offered along with a kiss to the cheek, and sipped at the wine. Belle impulsively kissed him once more, making him smile, and he wondered whether he should tell her of the message. He decided against it. There seemed little point until he knew exactly how much trouble he was in, and he didn't want her worrying any more than she already did. It was worrying _him_ , though, pricking away at his skin like tiny needles and preying on his mind. Belle cupped her wineglass in both hands, peering at him over the top of it, and he gently brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear, trying to distract himself from negative thoughts.

"Well then," he said quietly. "Are you going to talk to me? What is it that's bothering you?"

Belle hesitated, letting the taste of the wine fill her mouth and run down her throat in a cool stream as she swallowed.

"I guess - I guess it's something that Ruby said," she admitted. "Or - shouted might be more accurate, I guess. After she saw us together."

His mouth flattened. "I can imagine her reaction verbally, having experienced it physically."

"She wasn't yelling at me, not exactly," said Belle. "She just asked where I thought it - I mean _us_ \- was going. I didn't really have an answer."

He looked away for a moment, his thumb and finger rubbing at the bedcover.

"I see," he said. "Did you - have any thoughts on the matter?"

She shrugged a little uncomfortably. "I don't know. I'm not eighteen for another eleven months. Do you think we can sneak around until then without someone else finding out?"

His mouth twitched, and he took a drink. "Perhaps not."

She sighed heavily. "I need a _plan_ , Rum," she said a little plaintively. "I need to know where we're heading and how we're going to get there."

She watched him drink, watched his throat bob and the way the light caught the first growth of stubble along his jaw.

"I want to be with you," she added softly. "Live with you, whatever. I know we can't do that right now, but I can't imagine ever wanting anyone else."

He turned his head towards her then, a tired little smile on his face.

"Having sex in secret isn't the same as living together," he said, and she scowled, suddenly irritated at him trying to throw yet another obstacle in the way of their happiness.

"Don't patronise me! I know that!"

"I'm not trying to insult you," he said calmly, making her scowl deepen. "I'm just trying to be realistic. Whether Ruby comes around to the idea or not, whether any of your friends do, and assuming I don't get arrested in the meantime, moving in with me when you're eighteen is going to make people treat you a certain way. They will judge me and pity you."

She bit her lip, upset. "Why would they pity me? Are you saying they'll think you forced me into it, or something? Why would they care, as long as we're happy?"

Gold sighed, setting his glass down and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You're viewing this through your own eyes," he said heavily. "There will always be those that think the worst. That think I forced you, or enticed you with money."

"I don't care what people like that think!" she said crossly. "They don't know me, or you!"

"There will be the other kind of pity, as well," he added. "Those who think sadly of this beautiful young girl being with a lame, bad-tempered man old enough to be her father, and how you've wasted your life on someone like me, when you could have been dating some handsome young thing."

"Those are _your_ thoughts, no one else's," said Belle tartly, glaring at him. "Who's viewing things through their own eyes now?"

He gazed at her steadily, and she looked away and stared into her wine, frustration growing within her.

"If we're going to do this, there can be no illusions," he said gently, and she squirmed uncomfortably. She didn't want to hear it. Not right now.

"Belle," he whispered. "Look at me, sweetheart."

Something in his voice made her eyes burn, made her want to cry, and she felt as though he was breaking up with her all over again. Her lower lip wobbled, and she swallowed hard. She felt his fingertips, soft against her chin, and he gently turned her head towards him.

"You said you wanted to talk to me," she said, in a tiny voice. "I thought that meant you were going to tell me how you feel. To make me feel better. I thought maybe you had everything planned out for us."

He sighed, his hand opening out to slide softly across her cheek, his thumb brushing her lip, and he leaned in and kissed her forehead, leaving a warm, damp imprint there.

"I love you," he said softly. "I love you very, very much, Belle, and I want us to be together. If that will truly make you happy, I want that more than anything. But I'm not going to lie to you."

"Really?" she snapped. "Never stopped you before!"

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. His face tightened, his eyes dropping, and he pulled away, leaning back against the pillows and threading his fingers together with a sigh. She wanted to apologise, but the words stuck in her throat, stole her voice, made her choke. She took a drink instead, the wine loosening the tongue that had momentarily cleaved to the roof of her mouth. The atmosphere between them had turned heavy, and she wished she knew what to do to change it, to reach him.

"I understand why you don't trust me," he said stiffly. "Why would you, after all?"

"I didn't say that…"

"No," he agreed. "But you don't."

She hesitated, feeling terrible, but unable to deny his statement.

"I - want to trust you," she said lamely, and he nodded, still looking at his fingers, laced together in front of him.

"I know I screwed up, Belle," he said. "I don't know what more I can say or do to atone for that."

She sighed, wishing she hadn't thrown out her words without thinking. The peace between them was so new, so fragile, and it seemed that the slightest barb from either of them was prone to breaking it all over again.

"I know how sorry you are," she said quietly. "I know you're trying to be honest with me about - about Neal, and about what happened to you, and I think that helps. It helps me to understand you a little better."

He winced, as if touched by a painful memory, and stared at a spot on the wardrobe opposite the bed. He ran a finger over his upper lip, his jaw tightening, and she could feel his walls fly up, locking her out, shutting him down.

"Like I said." His voice was soft. "I'm a difficult man to love."

Belle smacked the bedcovers with the flat of her hand in frustration.

"No you're _not_!" she said insistently. "You're not difficult to love, you just don't love yourself! You're difficult to get close to because you won't let me in! Maybe if we talked more about your past..."

"No." His voice was flat, and made her bristle.

"You opened up to me the other day, and it brought us closer together," she pointed out, and his jaw clenched.

"Yes, and for your information, I've been having nightmares ever since. I'd rather not bring on any more right now, thank you."

"But surely if we talked about it, it would help," she persisted.

"I really think you've had enough to cope with this past year without dealing with my shit on top of it," he remarked dryly, not looking at her. She set down her glass, folding her arms.

"Well, maybe that's for me to decide," she snapped. "And I don't see that bottling things up does any good, either."

"Have you ever considered that perhaps I don't _want_ to talk about all the things I went through in my past?" he asked, an edge to his voice. "I already dealt with it once, I don't need to go through it again."

"'Dealing with it' isn't just not thinking about it," she said. "'Dealing with it' doesn't mean letting it affect your life here and now. Just because you've had some terrible relationships in the past, doesn't mean they're all doomed!"

"And you're suddenly the expert, are you?" he asked sarcastically. "Perhaps you should ask Doctor Hopper if he needs an assistant."

Furious with him, Belle threw back the covers, scrabbling on the floor for her clothes.

"Belle…" He let his head fall back with a groan, and she turned her back as she dressed, frustration making her chew her lip.

"Forget it, we're both upset and we're both tired and I don't want to say anything else to you right now," she said stiffly, and he let out a deep sigh as she tugged on her boots.

"Belle…" he said wearily. "Belle, I'm sorry. Please don't go."

"I guess I'll see you," she muttered, and snatched up her coat.

"Belle!"

She ignored him, fastening the coat and stomping downstairs and out of the door before he could even get out of bed.

* * *

Once outside she walked quickly, the cold air making her eyes water as she made her way to the library. Ruby had agreed to meet her there at ten-thirty so they could go back to Granny's together, and she had ages to wait, but she went inside anyway. The musty smell of books was comforting, and she felt her nerves calm as she walked in between the stacks, running a finger along the spines and picking up dust from those that were seldom used. The library was empty, the tables clean and free from books, the lights warm and soothing. Making her way around to the shelves that held novels, she slid _Jane Eyre_ from its place and took a seat at one of the tables as she opened up the book. Burying herself in a familiar, favourite story seemed a much better option than thinking about how to mend her damaged relationship.

It was much later when the sound of a quiet cough broke her concentration, and she stretched and sighed in her chair, laying the book aside and looking up as Ruby approached from between the stacks.

"Hey," whispered Ruby. "This place is closing soon, are you ready?"

She looked bright and cheerful, a wide grin on her face, and Belle wondered what her own expression was like, whether she looked a tenth as happy. Somehow she doubted it. She had calmed down, and was actually a little annoyed with herself for pushing things, but she was also annoyed with _him_ , and felt that they were really no further forward.

"Let's go," she said simply.

Ruby looked at her with a slight frown, as though she was surprised at Belle's lack of vitality, but she fell into step with her as they left the library and set off along the street towards Granny's. The diner was still open, a few people drinking beer and eating portions of fries, and Ruby announced that she was getting them hot chocolate, leaving Belle to find a table.

Belle took off her coat and sat down by the window, tuning out the raucous laughter coming from the bar. A couple of packets of sweetener had fallen out of the little white pot next to the salt and pepper, and she pushed one around on the table top with a forefinger, rounding up a few stray grains of salt and thinking over what had happened that evening. She had turned off her phone, being too cross to want to speak to Gold when she had left, and she thought it best not to turn it on again before morning. There were several people that she knew in the diner, but she tried to make herself invisible, hunching in her chair to occupy as little space as possible. It was a relief when no one came near her.

"Hey." Ruby's voice made her start, and she sat up as a mug of hot chocolate was placed in front of her, the smell of it sweet and comforting. She wrapped her hands around it, enjoying the warmth.

"So," she said, as Ruby slid into the seat opposite. "How was your night?"

Ruby grinned. "Pretty awesome. How was yours?"

Belle hesitated. "We - kind of had a fight."

"Oh." Ruby sipped her chocolate. "Sorry, honey."

"It's okay, it was both of us." She drew a finger through the whipped cream, sucking it off. "He was trying to be realistic, and I didn't want him to right then. I just wanted him to wave a magic wand and fix everything."

"You know that's not going to happen," said Ruby gently.

"I know, I know," sighed Belle. "He's right. Whatever we do, however we move forward, it's gonna be hard. He says people will judge us."

"Of course they will," said Ruby. "You have to expect that, Belle. Are you sure that's what you want?"

"It's not that I _want_ that," said Belle slowly, turning the mug around on the table top. "I just - I know we'll have to put up with some of that. It'll be worth it in the end though, right? To be with the person I love?"

"You tell me." Ruby took a drink, and Belle glanced up at her.

"I know you don't approve," she said. "And a part of me can understand why, Rubes, I'm not stupid. But I really do love him, you know." She sat back in her chair with a sigh. "God, this is hard! I can't even go over to his place without having to cook up some sort of clandestine operation."

"Operation Goldenballs," nodded Ruby, and Belle burst out laughing. The laugh turned into a sob halfway through, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. Ruby squeezed her other hand, sending her a reassuring smile.

"You need a break," she said gently. "Let your hair down, stop thinking so much."

Belle sat forward again, picking up her mug and drinking some of the chocolate. It was warm and soothing, cinnamon in amongst the cream.

"Maybe you're right," she agreed.

"Girls' night," announced Ruby. "All of us. We can study tomorrow, and have some fun on Friday night, what do you say?"

Belle sent her a wobbly smile. "Sure, why not?"

Ruby grinned, picking up her own mug and waggling her eyebrows at Belle.

"So, did you manage to get some fun times in before you had a fight?" she asked, and Belle smirked.

"Oh, _that_ part was fine. The problem is when he starts talking. Maybe I should just gag him…"

"Oookaay, that was definitely an image I didn't want in my head." Ruby gave an elaborate shudder and Belle burst out laughing. Ruby had curled her lip and was staring off into the distance, looking as though she were in physical pain.

"Oh God, so I'm picturing a ball gag, maybe leather straps…" She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "Belle, please kill me. How can I face him in class when I have a whole image in my head of you tying him down and spanking him?"

"Ruby, don't!" Belle was blushing furiously, shaking with giggles. "Trust me, I haven't spanked him. I may have _wanted_ to a couple of times, but not in a sexy way."

"See if you do?" Ruby took another drink of chocolate, getting cream on her nose. "Never, ever tell me."

* * *

Gold was in a foul mood the following day, snapping at staff and students alike. He had tried to call Belle, had been unable to get through, and had sent her an apologetic message instead, to which she had eventually responded with a subdued _I'm sorry too_ and nothing else. Carella had also sent him another couple of messages, with the final one informing him that she and Ursula would be back from honeymoon the next day, and that he was expected to present himself at their house that evening. He had sighed at that, but figured he may as well get it over with, and so as night fell he drove his Cadillac out of Storybrooke and along the winding coast road to where he was expecting a deluge of female anger. Ursula met him at the door, in a cream silk shirt and brown slacks, and sniffed at him as though he smelt of something rancid.

"He's here," she called over her shoulder, and motioned Gold through the door without a word. He felt his jaw tighten.

"I'd better get the drinks ready, then," he heard Carella respond, and he walked into their lounge to see her grabbing glasses. An ivory silk vest and leather pants covered her slim frame, her pale arms sporting a collection of silver bracelets at her wrists, and he watched as she poured gin over ice and added tonic. The room was pleasantly warm, a large fire crackling in the hearth, and he took off his coat and draped it over the back of one of the chairs, standing with his cane planted between his legs and his feet hip-width apart. Ursula took a seat on the cream leather couch, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap, staring at him as though she were about to pass judgement on him. It wasn't improving his mood.

"How was the honeymoon?" he ventured, since neither of them was saying anything, and Carella looked up from what she was doing, holding out a glass of whisky to him.

"Drunken, debauched and utterly fabulous," she said, shaking her hair back. "But we didn't bring you here to talk about our honeymoon."

"We brought you here to talk about our wedding," added Ursula. "Have a seat."

"No thank you," he said stiffly, and took a sip of his drink. She shrugged.

"Suit yourself," she said, picking up the television remote. She turned on the TV. and Carella perched on the arm of the couch next to her, sipping her gin. Gold watched as a video of their wedding started playing, clearly part-way through, the footage somewhat shaky but nonetheless clear. The cameraman was filming the newlyweds dancing, their hands clasped and bright, dreamy looks on their faces. He tried to keep his expression blank as he watched the wedding, watched the dancing, swaying couples. Carella and Ursula moved slowly in a circle, side-stepping to avoid bumping into Ruby and Dr Hopper, and the cameraman moved with them. It was then that he noticed the reason for his summons. Over their shoulders, he could see himself, dancing with Belle on the balcony. Carella pulled Ursula away from the floor, laughing and saying something about a drink. The camera panned, the image shaking a little, picking up the smiling faces of Mal and Carella's father, clinking glasses and laughing. It passed over Jefferson, talking quietly with Graham in a corner, their heads close together, before moving back to the balcony, just in time to catch Gold with his hand on Belle's cheek, his mouth on hers, her arms tight around him. God, it looked as though he was _eating_ her. This was not good. He could see - oh fuck, was that a glimpse of tongue? He closed his eyes in despair as the footage was paused on a still of him with his thumb on her lower lip, Belle looking up at him with undisguised lust.

"One of our friends took the video," said Ursula, setting the remote aside. "You want to explain?"

He swirled the whisky in his glass, weighing up the possibility of talking his way out of this one, and decided that the evidence against him was too damning.

"I kissed Belle," he said simply, and Carella waved an impatient hand.

"Yes, darling, we can see that!" she said sharply. "But what sort of kiss are we talking about?"

He sucked in his cheeks, wincing.

"Rum, please tell us it was a drunken, heat of the moment, 'you're hot and I've had too much champagne and fuck this was a bad idea' kiss," sighed Carella.

"Or even an 'I'm miserable because everyone gets married but me' kiss," offered Ursula.

"Because we've _all_ had those," added Carella. "Not just kissing, either, let's face it."

Ursula nodded with a grin, and Gold's mouth twisted. He could tell them that, of course. Maybe it would be enough. Maybe it would make the whole thing go away. He opened his mouth, but couldn't bring himself to do it, to speak of Belle in such a dismissive way to two good friends.

"It - wasn't that sort of kiss," he said heavily, and Carella frowned, putting down her drink and getting to her feet. She folded her arms, long, pale fingers tapping against her elbow.

"Go on," she said, and he raised a hand, fingers drumming awkwardly against the whisky glass as he tried to find the words. She stuck out her lower jaw.

"You had better not be saying what I think you're saying," she said dangerously. "Was this an 'I'm secretly fucking my student' kiss?"

"Surprised you didn't recognise it, if so," said Ursula dryly, and Carella rounded on her with an outraged expression before turning back to Gold. He opened his mouth, tried to speak, and let his hand fall to his side in defeat.

"Oh, for God's sake!" she snapped. "I don't _bloody_ believe this! After _everything_ I told you…"

"Well, it's not like I waited for you to spill your guts over your teenage affair before doing it!" he snapped defensively.

"Oh my God, Rum!" said Ursula, a revolted expression on her face. "You're fucking one of your _students_? How is that even _possible_?"

He felt like grinding his teeth. "What, do you want me to draw you a bloody diagram?"

"Don't you try and sass me, you pervert!" she snapped.

"Don't ask stupid bloody questions, then!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" commanded Carella, holding up a hand, bracelets jingling. "When did this happen? After the wedding? Quickie in the bushes when no one was looking?"

"Of course not!" he growled, and she put her hands on her hips, scowling.

"So, when?" she demanded. "When did you fuck that poor girl?"

"Stop saying that!" he snapped, glaring, and she put her hands on her hips.

"Oh? So you're _not_ fucking her? Excellent, that's one arse-kicking we can cross off the list then." She exchanged a look with Ursula, who nodded in agreement.

"That's not what I meant," he said coldly, his fingers tightening on the cane.

"So you _are_ fucking her? Of all the perverse, disgusting…"

He turned away for a moment, sighing in frustration.

"It's not _like_ that!" he insisted, spinning back to face them on the balls of his feet.

"Oh, I think it's _exactly_ like that!" she spat. "I would _never_ have believed this of you!"

"Is this how you get over losing the one woman that ever meant something to you?" demanded Ursula, her eyes flashing at him. "You go out and screw some innocent young thing because it gives you a sense of power?"

His mouth fell open, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"Is - is that what you think I'm doing?" he asked incredulously. "No, no, you don't understand…"

"That poor girl has been through hell and back this year," said Carella fiercely, jabbing a finger at him. "Did you wait until after her father was in the ground? Is that when you made your move? Bloody _men_!" She let out a _chuff_ of anger, starting to pace back and forth.

"That is _not_ how this is!" he insisted.

"Really?" she demanded. "Because that's exactly how it bloody _looks_! The girl is barely seventeen! You know what I went through, and how it affected me! What the hell do you think it's going to do to her, hmm?"

"Oh, this isn't about you and your adulterous Mr Firkins!" he snapped, his accent thickening with his anger. "Like he was ever gonna leave his bloody wife and kids! This is different, this is…"

"What?" she said coldly, curling her lip. "Love? Don't make me fucking laugh! We've all had a good shag at some point and thought it meant something more! What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you? Have you no compassion? You told me you kept your bloody conscience in your cock, and I didn't believe you!"

His jaw tightened, and he let his head roll back, frustrated.

"Wait," said Ursula suddenly. "How long has this been going on?"

He sucked his teeth, but saw no reason to lie, and looked at Carella.

"A few days before I hired you," he said quietly, and her mouth fell open. She shared a glance with Ursula, realisation dawning on both their faces.

"It's _her_!" said Ursula softly. "The one you were crying into your whisky over. The love of your _life_ is a goddamn _student_?"

His mouth worked, and Carella stared at him, aghast. She picked her way along the back of the sofa, pale arms stalking him, red-nailed fingers digging into the leather.

"Have you _completely_ lost your mind?" she demanded, enunciating every word. "Are you an _utter fool_? You were stupid enough not only to have sex with her, but to bloody well fall in _love_ with her?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"Rum…" groaned Ursula, letting her head roll back on the sofa cushions. He tightened his jaw, and took a swallow of whisky, letting it trace liquid fire down his throat.

"I didn't plan any of this," he said, and Carella snorted.

"Well, that's _painfully_ obvious," she said witheringly. "Oh, sit down, for God's sake! Looking at you standing there like you're about to face the firing squad is giving me a headache."

He hesitated, but sat down at the edge of the couch, laying his cane to the side. Carella stalked around to the front, muttering under her breath, and sank onto the cushion next to Ursula, who immediately put a hand on her thigh. She shifted in her seat, letting her head roll back against the leather before looking at him.

"As fuck-ups go, this is pretty impressive," she said, and he raised his glass in a mock toast, relieved that she had at least stopped yelling at him. For now.

"I know," he said, and took a drink. The whisky was almost gone, a last sip coating the bottom of the glass in pale amber. He swirled it around, feeling their eyes on him.

"You know you can't keep doing it, right?" said Ursula. "You'll have to let her go."

"Already tried that," he said stiffly. "I believe you saw the aftermath."

"Well, you're going to have to be strong about it," said Carella, reaching for her drink. "I realise we said you were a bloody idiot for pushing away the love of your life, but we didn't know the circumstances."

"I'm not gonna do that again," he said, shaking his head. "I promised her I wouldn't. Besides, I can't."

"Not _can't_ ," she corrected. " _Won't_. It's not the same thing."

"Fine!" he snapped. "I bloody _won't,_ alright? Are you gonna report me?"

"You really are a prize knobhead!" she sneered. "I may be bloody furious with you, but of course I'm not going to report you, what do you take me for?"

"Someone with considerably more morals than I," he said dryly, and Ursula giggled.

"Never thought I'd see the day," she remarked, and Carella slapped her leg playfully.

"The fact remains that this is never going to work," she said, her tone businesslike. "I can understand the appeal of a pretty face, Rum, believe me, but what on earth do you have in common?"

He hesitated, watching the light gleam amber and gold in the whisky.

"I remember when you two met," he said, flicking his eyes between the pair of them. "Mal introduced you at that Christmas party, and you started talking and wouldn't stop." He looked at Carella. "I remember you coming over to me with this gleam in your eyes and this smile on your face, like you'd just discovered something incredible."

"Well, she had," drawled Ursula, and the two kissed briefly.

"After that, you were joined at the hip," he continued. "And you told me two weeks later that that was it for you. You'd found The One. That nothing else would ever be the same for you, because you'd met the love of your life."

Carella shook her head. "You can't be serious..." she began, and he held up a hand, making her pause.

"I love her," he said softly, pressing the hand to his chest. "I love Belle, Carella. And if it's strength that's needed to give her up, I haven't got it. I'm weak."

"Rum…"

"I need her," he added. "She makes me feel...she makes me want to be a better person. And I need that. I need _her_. I love her. She's..." He cut off, trying to find the words. "She's - like light. Like a light in the darkness, calling to me. Guiding me home."

"Oh my God," muttered Ursula, and he shrugged.

"I didn't say it was an ideal situation," he admitted. "I had no right to ever touch her, I know that."

"And yet…" said Carella in a dry voice, gesturing with her glass. He nodded.

"I know," he whispered. "I don't even expect her to stay with me, but it doesn't mean I won't try. That I won't - I won't try to be worthy of her."

Carella let her head drop with a sigh, the tension, the anger, seeming to leave her in a rush. She caught Ursula's eye, receiving a shrug in response, and ran a weary hand over her face.

"Oh, Rum!" she sighed, and he hunched his shoulders a little, bracing himself for condemnation. "Of all the women in all the world…"

He let his head hang, a heavy breath escaping him.

"I know," he said quietly. "I'm a bloody idiot."

There was silence for a moment as they drank, the faint clinking of ice cubes and the crackling of the fire the only sounds. Carella gestured at the TV screen, where the image of he and Belle was still showing.

"Well, she certainly looks as though she's ready for you to take her up against the wall," she said dryly. "You didn't, did you? I'm not going to find footage of the two of you naked in a closet somewhere?"

"We did not," he said coldly. "Just one kiss, that's all. That kiss."

"Well, we can edit the footage to cut that scene, if you want," said Ursula. "I assume no one else knows?"

He rolled his eyes. "Her best friend accidentally saw us - in something of a compromising position," he said uncomfortably, and Carella and Ursula shared a revolted look.

"Then she came back after Belle had gone and kicked me in the bollocks," he added, and scowled as both women roared with laughter.

"Poor thing!" chuckled Carella. "Never let that happen to me, alright? Hang a tie on the door like a civilised person. The last thing I want to see is your naked arse, thank you."

"Seconded," added Ursula. "Keep it for the bedroom, okay?"

He was somewhat taken aback by their teasing.

"So you're definitely not reporting me then?" he said.

"Oh, I'm still furious with you," said Carella, wagging a finger at him. "But I think I ought to talk to Belle before I decide exactly _how_ furious."

"In case you haven't noticed, we're not averse to unconventional relationships," said Ursula dryly. "When Cari and I met, it wasn't even legal for us to get married in some states, ridiculous though that is in this day and age."

"You once walked in on me in bed with three other people," added Carella, and Gold closed his eyes at the memory.

"Don't remind me," he said quietly. "It was ten years ago and your father still has no idea what you got up to at that convention, you know."

She snorted. "I had a lot more fun than you and Mal propping up the bar and moaning about your lives."

"Personally I was unable to work out why you chose to do it in _my_ room," he remarked. "I had to sleep on Mal's floor."

"Sorry about that, darling," she said, winking.

"I'd like to point out that my lovely wife's bed-hopping days are well and truly over," said Ursula, with a grin, and Carella turned to kiss her.

"Just trying a few things on for size before I found the one I wanted," she murmured, and they kissed again. Gold sighed, and Carella straightened up with a grin.

"Look, Rum, we don't give a rat's arse about societal conventions," she said airily, picking up her drink. "I just worried that you were using her somehow for your own disgusting needs."

"Yes, _thank_ you," he said dryly. "I'm sure my 'needs', as you put it, are no more disgusting than yours."

"Don't ever tell me about your needs, Rum," interjected Ursula, and Carella snorted in amusement.

"I'm joking," she said. "Mostly. What I mean is, perhaps I was thinking that you were taking advantage of her youth and innocence. If you're telling me you're not..."

"I'm not," he said wearily. "I really do love her, you know. It's just that not everyone is as open-minded as you two."

"Well, it's only illegal because you're a teacher," pointed out Carella. "Take that away and it's just - icky."

He frowned at her. "Thank you for that ringing endorsement," he said dryly. "It doesn't help with what I do in the here and now though, does it?"

"You can't seriously think that you're gonna be able to sneak around until she's eighteen," said Ursula, gesturing with her glass. "Sooner or later, someone's gonna notice."

"Do you think I don't know that?" he said coldly. "When she's eighteen, it won't be as much of an issue. It's what we do in the meantime that's worrying me."

"Oh, just run away to Scotland!" snapped Carella. "She'd probably fit in your hand luggage!"

"Yes, an excellent plan!" he said sarcastically, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "We'll just settle down and buy a house together, shall we? Invite the neighbours round for tea and scones?"

"No one would care!" she insisted, waving a hand. "Oh, you'll have the usual people calling you cradle-robber and pervert behind your back, but you're going to get that wherever you go, given your choice of partner."

"Wow, you're really selling this one," he remarked, and she rolled her eyes.

"Take a teaching post, if you really must work, but we both know you don't need the money," she said. "The two of you can play house and make babies, and she can go and study somewhere decent like St Andrews. All her undergrad friends can mistake you for her father and make awkward comments when you come to pick her up in whatever shiny, penis-shaped German car you choose to buy."

Ursula sniggered, and Gold glared at them both.

"Take her away from her friends?" he asked incredulously. "From the closest thing to family she has left? What do you take me for?"

She sniffed, hands on hips. "I _took_ you for someone who had the sense not to shag his students, but I suppose that idealised view has gone straight down the crapper with your morals!"

Gold opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, and she waved a hand, clearly exasperated.

"She might think it's worth it, Rum," said Ursula. "For love. If that's really what this is."

"I doubt it," he said quietly, and she folded her arms under her breasts, dark eyes flashing.

"Don't give me any of this self-loathing bullshit!" she snapped. "You were dumb enough to bang the poor girl and win her heart. If you won't leave her alone, the least you could do is think about your future!"

He ran his hand over his face with a growl.

"I know that!" he snapped. "I just - I don't know what to do for the best!"

"Well, you're going to have make your mind up!" said Carella shortly. "If you're going to break her heart again, best you do it quickly and try not to make her suffer too much. If you're not - well, you need to start thinking about where you want the two of you to end up."

"I think I need another bloody drink," he growled, and she snorted, pushing herself to her feet.

"Good. I'll make it a large one."

"I have to drive back home after this character assassination, thank you," he said gloomily, and she dropped onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. She smelt of gin and cigarettes and Chanel No 5, and it was familiar and oddly comforting. He let his head rest against hers with a sigh.

"God, I'm such a fuck-up," he whispered, and she nodded.

"Yes," she agreed. "But you're _our_ fuck-up."

He muttered something under his breath, and she ran a hand through his hair.

"You're staying here tonight, you old pervert," she announced. "We can get drunk and try to talk some sense into you. Either that or we'll forget all about your illegal relationship and just start singing karaoke, what do you say?"

"I'll order pizza," offered Ursula, and Gold sighed.

"Wonderful," he grumbled, and Carella kissed his cheek again.

* * *

 **A/N: Good thing Gold's friends are - sort of - understanding.**

 **Next time: Carella talks with Belle, and Belle and Gold try to have another conversation. Also Jefferson.**


	25. Absolution

**A/N: I know I was going to have Carella talk with Belle this chapter, but then something else happened, so it'll be next chapter.**

* * *

Gold had a hangover the next day, as he had expected he would, but overall he felt better. Having two good friends who now knew what it was he was going through, although they didn't exactly understand, was a relief. Ursula made them breakfast the next morning, and he wolfed down scrambled eggs and drank two cups of coffee almost before he spoke to anyone. Carella watched him with heavy-eyed amusement from behind her coffee cup, her hair tousled.

"Feel any better, darling?" she asked, and he hesitated, taking a piece of toast and spreading butter on it.

"Actually, yes," he said, and looked up at them. "Thank you for listening. It - I think it helped."

"The margaritas certainly didn't," sighed Carella, rubbing her eyes. She squinted at him. "Were we _singing_?"

Gold shrugged. "Don't ask me. I don't even remember the margaritas."

"You were _both_ singing," said Ursula dryly. "It was painful. If I were a terrible person I'd have put it on YouTube."

Carella shuddered, burying her nose in her coffee. Gold poured himself a third cup, emptying the pot, and Ursula gave him a wry look and got up to make some more.

"So," she said, spooning coffee into the pot. "What are you going to do?"

Gold took a bite of toast, gesturing to himself and scattering crumbs as he swallowed.

"I'm gonna go home and get a shower," he said. "And then I'm going to work."

He grinned at them smugly, popping the last of the toast in his mouth, and Carella's eyes narrowed.

"Don't get cheeky," she said severely. "You know very well what we mean. Are you going to talk to Belle?"

He licked crumbs from his fingertips, picking up his coffee again.

"Yes," he said finally. "When I've decided what to say."

"Wow, he's actually planning ahead," said Ursula, sharing a grin with Carella. "Better late than never, I suppose."

He pulled a face at them, draining his cup.

"I'd better go," he said, standing up and brushing himself down. He circled the table, giving Ursula a quick kiss on the cheek, then Carella. She ruffled his hair affectionately.

"You stink of booze," she said. "Remember to brush your teeth."

"And drive carefully," added Ursula. "The roads are icy, it's freezing out there."

"God, you're like a couple of maiden aunts," he grumbled, and they snorted in unison.

"Oh, go to work!" said Carella, feigning boredom with a languid wave of her hand. "Let us know how it goes with your illegal true love."

"I will." He shrugged on his coat, straightening the cuffs.

"And try not to get her pregnant," said Ursula, with a grin, and he rolled his eyes at both of them.

* * *

He felt better after he had showered and shaved and put on a clean suit, and he managed to get to the school with time to spare before his first class. The corridors were almost empty, and he got to his office without meeting anyone, the tap of his cane and his uneven tread echoing around him as he walked. He usually had a cup of coffee in the teachers' lounge before starting his day, but he was already wired on caffeine, and so he turned on his computer and sat down to compose a letter.

Twenty minutes later he was on the move again, striding purposefully towards the office of Principal Mills. She answered his knock in a somewhat dismissive tone, and he grinned to himself, wondering how she would react to his news. It wasn't as though the two of them had ever gotten on well together, but he suspected she was a pragmatist at heart. She would immediately see the downside.

He opened the door, stepping into the office and closing it behind him. Winter sun shone through the gaps in the blinds, throwing sharp-edged daggers of golden light across the room. Dust motes danced in the air like sparks as she looked up from behind her desk.

"Mr Gold," she said, looking a little surprised. "What can I do for you?"

He stepped up to the desk, folding his fingers around the handle of his cane, and smiled at her, which made her brows furrow in suspicion. Reaching into his inside pocket, he drew out a crisp white envelope and extended it to her between thumb and forefinger.

"I'm bringing you this," he said calmly, and her frown deepened. She reached out with a brisk, impatient click of crimson-nailed fingers, plucking the letter from his outstretched hand. He watched as she slit it open with the curved edge of her thumbnail, the envelope ripping with a low, harsh tearing sound. She glanced at him briefly before pulling out the piece of paper inside, neatly folded into thirds, and she flicked it open, scanning it with dark eyes. Perusal over, she snapped her fingers shut, the paper crinkling a little as she looked up at him.

"Well," she said, sliding the letter back into the envelope. "I have to say that's unexpected. Not to mention disappointing."

"And there I was thinking you'd be pleased," he said mildly.

She tapped the edge of the letter against the desk. Four staccato beats, a dull _thunk_ of a sound that grated in his ears.

"You do realise this is putting me in a very difficult position," she said, frowning up at him.

"I'm aware of that." He stood very straight and stiff, the cane poised between his feet. "I'm giving you as much notice as I can, to enable you to find a suitable replacement."

"In Storybrooke?" she said, lifting a sceptical brow. "What are the chances?"

"Well, that's really not my concern, dearie," he said dryly. "You can approach Mrs Deville-Feinberg. She may be interested in a full-time job at the school. I doubt it, but who knows? I can also give you a list of contacts, if you want to reach outside the area."

Regina sighed, sitting back in her chair and drumming her fingers on the desk.

"Okay, so what is it you want?" she asked, and he pulled a face.

"Want?" he asked softly. "I don't _want_ anything."

"Look, Gold, I can't deny that the students' chemistry grades have improved greatly since you joined this school," she said. She appeared to be trying to smile at him, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"I have a little money available in the teaching budget," she added. "Not much, but possibly enough to tempt you to stay."

He almost laughed.

"D'you think I do this for the money?" he asked, amused. "I assure you that I don't. Now, I'm every bit as pleased as you at the progress of the students, and I will see things through to the end of the year. After that, I'm gone."

Regina pursed her lips, tossing the letter down on the desk as she looked him over.

"Well, I can't say that this is welcome news," she said. "Where are you going, Mr Gold?"

"I have several - options - that I need to consider," he said. "No firm plans as yet."

"You could always take a sabbatical," she suggested. "Take some time out, come back next fall. I'm aware you've been going through something this year…"

"I don't know what you mean," he said, frowning, and she waved a hand.

"Oh, please! I have eyes. And a nose. You were drinking pretty heavily on the run up to Christmas. I have no idea what that was about…" She arched a brow at him, as though waiting for him to speak, and he looked at her stonily, until she shrugged.

"Be that as it may," she went on. "If you wanted to take some time for personal issues, it would be easier for me to find someone to fill in for a year than get someone to take a permanent post in Storybrooke."

He hesitated, frowning, his hands opening and closing on the cane handle.

"I'll consider it," he said eventually, and she nodded.

"Good. Let me know as soon as you can."

* * *

He was thoughtful as he walked back to his office, Regina's suggestion being one he hadn't considered. Given that she had never liked him, he had expected her reaction to be one of anger, with accusations of leaving the school in the lurch and the threat of a crappy reference, but if she was amenable to him coming back in a year or so… He sighed, shaking his head. There would be little chance of that, once he and Belle went public. The scandal would be quite bad enough without him getting another teaching post when she was barely eighteen. Even if Regina didn't have any objection to his reappointment, he was damn sure some of the parents would. He scowled, some of his good mood evaporating. He loved teaching, but if push came to shove, there was really no contest. Love was sacrifice, or so he'd read in more than one saccharine-sweet and wholly unrealistic book. In his experience love was pain, and loss, the agony of broken dreams and the bitterness of regret. A tiny, positive part of him hoped for more with Belle: hoped for comfort, and closeness, and the warmth and safety of her arms. The cynical remainder, however, was well aware that he stood every chance of screwing up this relationship like he'd screwed up every other.

Upon entering his office, he was briefly pulled out of his self-loathing introspection by the sight of a bright purple sticky note on his desk. _Drink tonight?_ It was Jefferson's open, looping scrawl, and Gold allowed himself a brief smile. Perhaps more company was what he needed right now.

* * *

It was nearing six by the time they were sitting down at one of the less sticky tables in the Rabbit Hole, Jefferson setting a glass of whisky in front of him and lifting his own rum and coke in a toast.

"Good New Year?" he asked, and Gold nodded, taking a drink and trying not to wince at the harshness of the whisky.

"Actually, it wasn't bad," he said, thinking briefly of Belle, and their night together. "How about you?"

Jefferson was practically wriggling in his seat, and Gold couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm.

"That good?" he remarked. "Whatever did you get up to?"

"Oh, not much," said Jefferson carelessly, feigning indifference. "I just let a certain sheriff lay hands on my person, if you know what I'm saying."

"Well, I can certainly guess without the need for too many details." Gold clinked their glasses, a genuine smile on his face. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, it's going pretty well," admitted Jefferson. He sucked his drink through a straw, still bouncing on his toes beneath the table. "We've decided to make it a serious thing though."

"Ah." Gold took another drink. "So that means…"

"I've - broken up with Regina," confirmed Jefferson, with a shrug. "Not that we were ever really an item, it was just…"

"Fucking. I remember you saying." Gold swirled the whisky in his glass. "Did you tell her yet?"

"Yeah. Went and bit the bullet before I came over here." Jefferson sucked his teeth a little awkwardly. "She was okay about it, but if she's a little more prickly than usual next week, that's why."

"No doubt the Principal will get over the loss of your touch," said Gold dryly, secretly pleased that he'd had the conversation about his resignation before Jefferson had gotten to her. "So, what's next for you and the good sheriff?"

"Oh, we're taking things easy," allowed Jefferson, taking another slurp of his drink. "It's going really well, though. We're very compatible. In _every_ way."

He grinned, and Gold rolled his eyes. Jefferson shoved his arm.

"What about you?" he asked. "If my eyes didn't deceive me, you were actually socialising at that wedding. I even saw you have entire conversations with people without insulting them."

"Well, it has been known," said Gold, a little disgruntled. "I wasn't always this reclusive and miserable, you know, it took years of practice."

Jefferson snorted in amusement.

"So," he said, stirring his drink with the straw. "You danced with the lovely Miss French. Did she corner you on the terrace and feel you up?"

"Don't be absurd," said Gold dismissively, as Jefferson chuckled. He wagged a finger, grinning widely.

"I _told_ you to watch out for her, man," he insisted. "She was looking at you like you could save the world and kiss her into a frenzy afterwards. Girl's got it bad."

"You're being ridiculous," muttered Gold, and drained his glass. Jefferson shrugged.

"Don't blame me if you find her naked on your desk one day," he said mildly, and Gold almost choked on the whisky, his eyes watering as the fiery liquid went down the wrong way.

"Shall I get another?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse, and got up before Jefferson could answer, making his way to the bar through a crowd of boisterous youngsters. He managed to get another round of drinks, and turned back, just in time to have someone knock into him with a muttered oath, spilling coke over his hand. He glared as the young woman brushed dark hair back from her face, and his expression settled into a cautious frown as he recognised her.

"Miss Lucas," he said evenly, and Ruby eyed him somewhat warily, as though she was watching for any sudden moves.

"Mr Gold," she said flatly. "What are you doing here?"

He held up the drinks, lifting an eyebrow. "I do have a social life. Pitiful, but still in existence, as you see."

"Hmm. When you're not fucking my best friend, you mean?" She leant against the bar, hip sticking out and her hand on her waist in a challenging pose. He looked at her steadily until she dropped her gaze, and quickly checked behind her, noting the presence of Misses Blanchard and Swan talking animatedly with David Nolan and another boy.

"Where is Belle?" he asked calmly, and Ruby shrugged.

"She'll be down in an hour or so. She wanted to finish some schoolwork."

 _Of course_. He smiled a little, and Ruby picked up her glass of coke, watching him as she drank.

"She said you guys had a fight," she added.

"Did she?" He supposed it was true, and he still felt bad about it. "Well, I hope she'll be alright. It wasn't anything serious."

"Hmm." She was still watching him with that suspicious, wary expression, and it was starting to grate on him, so he gave her a cool nod and turned back to the table he shared with Jefferson, still feeling her eyes on his back.

"I see a bunch of the kids are out," observed Jefferson, as he sat back down. He winked at Gold. "Try not to beat any of them up this time, okay?"

Gold curled his lip, still a little sore over his suspension, despite understanding that there was little else Regina could have done with him.

"What happened to that idiot, anyway?" he asked, and Jefferson sniffed, stirring his drink.

"Apparently he's coming back next week. He's not to speak to nor approach Aurora, and Regina told his parents that if he ever does anything like that again, he's _never_ coming back. Seems kind of lenient, but…" He shrugged, and Gold grunted.

"Small town, small minds," he said dryly. "His parents have given money to the school before, I can understand her not wanting to completely alienate them."

He hesitated, looking up at Jefferson as he took a drink.

"Besides, it's really not my concern," he added. "I gave Regina notice today."

Jefferson almost spat his drink everywhere, sitting forward with wide eyes.

" _What?_ " he demanded. "You're _leaving_?"

"For a year, at least," nodded Gold, running his glass between his fingertips. "I'm leaving at the end of the academic year. It - may be a sabbatical, I haven't decided. I - I just thought you should know."

Jefferson stared at him for a moment, as though waiting for him to say he was joking, then sat back in his chair with a hiss of breath, taking a large gulp of rum and coke and swilling it around his mouth.

"Well," he said finally. "You're just full of surprises. What's the story? I thought you liked the school."

"I do." Gold put down his glass, rubbing the side of his nose with an awkward finger. "I just need to take some time off, that's all. It's a personal matter."

"Hm." Jefferson took another drink, watching him over the rim of his glass. "I knew there was something going on. You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Not right now," said Gold dryly. "I don't need another friend telling me what an idiot I am, thank you."

"If it's any consolation, you're a sexy idiot," offered Jefferson with a grin, and Gold sighed, amused.

"If all goes well, you'll be one of the first to know," he said. "But I haven't finalised my plans as yet."

"Will you leave Storybrooke?"

"I don't know." He looked at the tabletop, at the circle of moisture there left by Jefferson's glass, and absently drew lines out from it in the shape of a sunburst with the tip of his index finger. "Perhaps. It - really depends on how things go over the next few months. I'm seeing out the school year, getting the kids through their exams. After that - I guess we'll see."

"Oh." Jefferson drank, looking him over. "I'll miss you, man."

"I haven't gone anywhere yet," said Gold wryly. "You're one of a handful of people that I actually enjoy spending time with, and almost all of the others live right here, so I'd rather not leave if I can help it."

"Good." Jefferson drained his glass. "Okay, I'll get the next."

Gold watched him go, smiling as Jefferson caught up a surprised Ruby for an impromptu spin while singing loudly to whatever dreadful song was pumping out of the speakers. A flash of colour caught his eye, and he watched as Belle entered in a dark shirt and coral pink skirt beneath her thick coat, Ruby and the others running to greet her. He sank a little lower in his seat, trying to keep out of her line of sight, but Ruby had obviously told her of his presence, because the next time he glanced up she was looking right at him, her expression unreadable. He nodded and smiled slightly, and was relieved when her lips quirked a little in response.

He didn't want to crowd Belle while she was out with her friends, so he stayed for another drink with Jefferson, and felt better for talking to him. He left around half an hour later, and had walked almost all the way home when his phone rang. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at Belle's number.

"Hello, Belle," he said, and there was silence on the other end for a moment.

"Hello," she said then. "I - um - I wanted to see if we could talk."

"Alright." He had hoped to talk to her when he was at least sober, but so be it. "Did you - want to come over?"

"No." The word was said quickly, as though she couldn't bear the idea, and he sighed to himself. Just as well, given his fuzzy head, but if not tonight…

"Can I see you tomorrow?" she asked then. "In the cemetery, at nine in the morning?"

"At the - um - yes, I suppose so." He tried to conceal his bewilderment, but she was saying a hurried goodbye almost before the words were out of his mouth, and he was left standing in the street and frowning up at the night sky.

* * *

The weather next morning was bright and sunny, some of the snow having melted in the warmer air, and he decided to walk there, nodding to the few people he met. The cemetery itself seemed empty, but as he made his way around the side of the church he saw Belle squatting on her heels, picking dead leaves from the foot of her father's headstone. She seemed to sense his approach, looking up as he neared and rising to her feet as she dusted off her hands.

"Hey," she said, ducking her head a little awkwardly, and he smiled at her in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. He gestured to the graveyard, looking around them.

"This seems a curious place to keep meeting," he said, and she shrugged, glancing over the neat rows of headstones.

"It feels like - it feels like this is where we're the most honest with each other," she said, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "For good or ill. The cabin too, perhaps."

"Yeah."

The wind blew, lifting the dark curls of her hair, and she brushed them impatiently behind her ears, chewing her lip as she looked at him with those wide blue eyes of hers. Her cheeks were a little pink with the cold, the skin smooth and pale, and he remembered how soft she was to touch, how her skin was warm and creamy and how she melted into him when he kissed her. He waited for her to speak, unsure why she had asked him to come and dreading what he may hear. She put her hand out to him then, and after a moment's hesitation he took it, allowing her to pull him with her towards the forest. They walked in amongst the trees until they were out of sight of the church and the cemetery, until they were hidden in amongst the thick tree trunks. The snow was patchy and uneven here, the dark earth and the curving mounds of roots showing through, and he stumbled a little, Belle's grip tightening as she stepped over the thin, snow-covered length of a fallen tree and into a small clearing. She turned to face him, dropping his hand and looking somewhat nervous. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and the sun was picking out reddish highlights in her hair. She appeared to be steeling herself for something, and it was making him extremely tense.

"You were right," she said suddenly, and he pulled a face.

"Was I? That seems unlikely, but very well…"

Belle gave him a flat look of amusement.

"I mean, when we talked the other night," she said. "What you said, the things you said people would think. You were right."

"Yes."

He wondered where she was going with this, whether she was about to tell him it was all too much. Tiny needles of anxiety pricked at him, his heart picking up its pace as he watched her chew her lip. He told himself that he shouldn't be surprised. It would be the best thing for her. It would kill him, but at least she would move on. He felt the heavy thump of his pulse high in his throat as he waited for her to speak. To break his heart. It would be no more than he deserved.

Belle tried to gather her thoughts, shooting glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He was standing calmly, but there was an air about him that she had come to recognise as nervousness.

"I'm - I'm really sorry I was unreasonable," she said, wishing that the words came as easily to her when face to face with him as they had been when she practised the conversation in her head. "I expected you to have all the answers and that wasn't fair."

"It's perfectly fair to want to know where things were going," he said quietly. "I just wanted to be realistic, that's all. I'm sorry if it wasn't what you wanted to hear."

"No, you were right." She paced back and forth a little, chewing her lip again. "I was being childish. Part of me knew how things would be. Deep down, I know what people would think of us. I tell myself it doesn't matter..."

"Yes," he said again, his voice barely more than a whisper. She stopped pacing, turning to look at him, and he stared back at her with his sad eyes. It made her want to cry, and she had already cried enough for two lifetimes. She tried to get to the point.

"What I mean," she continued. "Is that I _want_ you to be honest with me. Not to hold back with things like that. I want you to tell me what I need to hear, even if you don't think I'll like it."

"Alright." He was watching her a little warily, and she nodded.

"I know there are things you haven't told me about your past," she added. "I thought - I thought maybe it would help you, too."

Gold sighed, dropping his eyes, and she sensed him closing himself off again. She tried not to feel irritated by it, watching his mouth work as he fought to find the words he needed.

"I'm trying to be more open with you," he began. "I am, Belle, truly."

"I know," she assured him.

"But some things I - I just don't want to tell you. Not because I don't trust you, sweetheart," he said gently, and pressed a hand to his heart. "Because I don't want to go through them again. Can you understand that?"

"But…" She bit her lip. "Surely it's worse to just bottle them up? Wouldn't it be better to talk about them, get them out in the open?"

He closed his eyes, a weary, somewhat indulgent smile briefly lifting the corners of his mouth, and she suddenly felt very young and stupid.

"Well, perhaps it would," he said then, sounding as though it was the last thing he believed. "But as you well know, I'm a coward. There are some demons I'd really rather not face."

"But you're _not_!" she protested. "Rum, you told me what you went through!"

"I told you some of it," he said tersely.

"Even so." She tried to catch his eye, to make him look at her. "You were in a bad place and you got out. You had the strength to leave the only home you'd ever known…" She broke off as he started shaking his head firmly.

"When I told you about my past, I wasn't entirely honest with you," he said, and she frowned, making him raise a hand. "I didn't lie," he added quickly. "But when I said I got out of the situation with my dad, I…"

He hesitated, looking uncomfortable, and she waited patiently, the breeze whipping strands of hair around her face.

"I - neglected to say that the choice wasn't mine," he finished, his voice heavy.

Belle's brow crinkled in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I wasn't the one who got out," he said, and there was a bitterness in his voice, a sad sense of loss. "I came home from school one day and he was gone. There was a note on the table saying the rent was paid to the end of the month, and eight pounds seventy five in change. That was it."

Belle was horrified. "But - he just _left_? Without telling you?"

"Some woman he met," he said dismissively. "There was always one or two. A neighbour told me he'd seen them loading bags into some old car. So, yeah."

There was silence for a moment, and his jaw worked a little as he stabbed at the fallen leaves with the end of his cane, a twisted little smile on his face.

"So, you see," he went on. "Not brave. Not strong. Weak. Desperate. Clinging to the past, to anything I might call family."

Belle swallowed, a lump in her throat.

"He was your dad," she said thickly, his pain a sudden, sharp reminder of her own loss. "He was all you had. He left _you_. You were just a kid, and he left you. _He_ was the weak one."

Gold looked up briefly, flicking his hair out of his eyes. The sun caught on silver strands, gleaming at his temples.

"A part of me knew that," he admitted. "But it didn't stop me feeling as though I'd driven him away. First my mother, and then him. It wasn't until I had Neal that I thought, perhaps, that more fault lay with him than me. And then - then Neal's mother left, and then I lost Neal. I was angry about it for a long time. Closed myself off."

His words were short, clipped, as though he was uncomfortable speaking them, and his jaw was tight with the strain of releasing old hurts into the air to stab and claw at him once more. She wished she could help him, could reach him, take the pain from him and burn it to dust.

" _None_ of that was your fault," she said gently, and he shook his head.

"I think - I think what I'm trying to say," he began hesitantly, and cut off, looking away from her, as though the right words could be found in the silent woods, in the frosted undergrowth, in the fissured bark of the pine trees, and with a flash of realisation, she understood.

"You think I'm going to leave, don't you?" she asked, her lip trembling a little. "You think I'm going to leave you."

He heaved a sigh, dropping his eyes. His hair fell forward over his face, shielding him from her gaze, and she followed his line of sight downwards to the shining toes of his leather shoes. Sun sparkled on the frost coating the fallen leaves at their feet, a brief glimpse of light before the shadows drew in.

"Everyone always leaves," he said quietly. "In the end."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, wondering which of them was the most broken. Her pain was a raw, fresh wound that had not yet healed over, but his wounds were bone-deep: jagged rents in his soul that had grown ugly, knotted scar tissue, twisting what was there. He looked up at her then, pressing a hand to his chest, his eyes pleading with her.

"I don't want to be the thing that makes you leave, Belle," he whispered. "I don't want to drive you away like everyone else. I don't think I could bear to see that."

She bit her lip, tears forming in her eyes.

"Rum…" she said gently, and he shook his head, tapping his chest with the flat of his hand.

"I know it's hard," he went on. "I know I'm a fucking mess, Belle, and I can't promise to tell you everything, but I - I love you enough to try."

She stepped forward, tugging off her gloves and shoving them in the pocket of her coat before putting one hand over his, over his heart. The other reached up to touch his face, her fingers stroking over his cheek and through the strands of his hair.

"I love you," she whispered, looking into his eyes. "I know it's gonna be hard, I do know that. And I promise not to push you to talk about anything, okay?"

He didn't say anything, but he leant into her touch, his breath a shuddering sigh, showing white in the cold air. She ran her thumb over his cheek, feeling the smoothness of freshly-shaven skin.

"I'm not going anywhere, do you hear?" she said softly, and he turned his head to kiss her fingertips. She reached up to kiss him, pushing up on the toes of her boots, and his arms slid around her, pulling her close, his lips on hers. The kiss was brief and sweet, and he pulled back, nuzzling her nose.

"Belle," he whispered. "Oh, my Belle."

She sighed, rubbing her hands against his chest, wishing she could touch his skin through the layers of clothing.

"There," she said quietly. "Now stop that. We're both a mess, but we can get through this."

"Yes." He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing in, and she slid a hand up to his hair again, winding some of the strands around her fingers.

"I won't leave you," she said softly. "Not unless you want me to go, okay?"

He shook his head, his face crumpling a little, and let his cane fall, reaching hesitantly to stroke her hair back from her face.

"I don't," he whispered, and his hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs gently stroking over her chin, her lips. "I don't want you to go, sweetheart. I don't ever want you to go."

Her palm brushed his cheek and she kissed him again. He opened his mouth, the kiss growing passionate, and she gently touched his tongue with hers, moaning in contentment as he pushed her back against the rough trunk of an old pine tree. Her fingers dug further into his hair as he pushed up against her, the length of his body a comforting pressure, his scent drifting into her nostrils with the clean, sharp smell of the tree. His hands moved over her body, feeling her curves, and she tugged open his coat and then her own, wanting the heat of him against her. He pulled his mouth from hers, trailing his lips down her throat and back up to her ear.

"Kissing in the woods," he murmured. "A little dangerous, wouldn't you say?"

"I want to do more than kiss you," she breathed, and ran her hands over his chest, feeling the tiny points of his nipples through the silk. She felt him smile against her, his tongue flicking out over the skin of her throat. His hands slid up to squeeze her breasts, and she pushed against him, wanting more.

"Touch me," she whispered, and he pulled back a little, his breathing hard, his eyes dark. His hand dropped, fumbling beneath the skirt of her dress and finding the waistband of her tights and panties, and she gasped as he pushed his fingers down inside, cupping her mound. She moaned a little, lifting her mouth to latch onto his, opening up to take his tongue inside her as his fingers parted her folds and stroked through the wetness there. He groaned into her mouth, a low, rumbling exhalation of contentment, and Belle pushed herself down onto him, letting him slide all the way inside her with two crooked fingers.

"Yeah!" she breathed. "Oh, that's good!"

Gold smiled against her lips, his tongue darting out to taste her again. His cock hardened as he swept the pad of his thumb over her clit, making her clutch at him with kneading fingertips in the shoulders of his overcoat. She whimpered a little, and he moved his thumb in slow circles, his fingers dipping in and out of her. Belle moaned, letting her head fall back against the tree with a dull thud, her cheeks flushing as he worked, as he brought her closer to the edge. She was moving against him, her hips pumping, fluid seeping out of her along his fingers and into the palm of his hand as his thumb rubbed around the hard pearl of her clit. Her breath was coming hard, her chest heaving, and he pulled his head back a little to look at her, a smile spreading across his face. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her flushed cheeks, the dark crescents of her lashes lying against her pale skin, the moist, dark pink of her parted lips. He could feel her tensing, and he knew that she was close, that she would come. He wanted to make her come, to feel her around his fingers, that clenching of flesh and the heat of her fluids on his hand, the sound she would make and the way she would taste when he licked her from his fingers, salty-sweet and delicious. She was moaning, her lips parting, her breath a hot cloud of white in the freezing air, and she suddenly cried out, bucking against his hand and gripping him tightly. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, her passage slick and hot, and he was straining in his pants, desperate to be inside her, to feel her around him.

Her movements slowed, her cries trailing off to tiny, contented moans, and she almost purred in happiness as she settled back against the tree, her fingers reaching up to stroke through his hair once more. She was smiling, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, and he wanted to take her home. To take her home and make her his and shut out the world forever.

"Wow," she said dreamily, and he gently withdrew his fingers, sliding out of her.

She felt like velvet, like cream, her flesh soft and hot and delicious, and he locked eyes with her as he pulled his hand out of her panties, letting her skirt fall. She watched as he lifted them to his mouth, slowly sliding one inside, his eyes closing as he tasted her, a low rumble of pleasure escaping him. Her eyes widened as he drew out the finger, her breath panting a little, and she opened her mouth as he made to suck the other finger, her tongue wetting her lips. Gold felt himself twitch at the hunger in her eyes, and he slowly ran the tip of his middle finger, still slick with her juices, over her lower lip. Belle bent her head, taking the finger inside, her mouth hot and wet, her tongue wrapping around him, and she sucked hard, making him groan with pleasure. She moved her head back and forth, her cheeks hollowing, and he thought of how she would feel, how incredible it would be to have her mouth around his cock. He bent his head to kiss her cheek, his lips grazing the side of her mouth, breathing in the musky scent of her as she sucked his finger. His tongue flickered out, sweeping across the finger and tasting salt.

"Come back with me, Belle," he rasped. "Let me take you home. Let me take you to bed."

She pulled her head back, drawing out his finger, blinking sleepily up at him, and lunged to kiss him, her tongue pushing in between his lips and touching his, her hands grabbing his lapels, pushing the overcoat from his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, breaking the kiss as he turned to lay it on the ground behind him, a blanket for them, and her hands dropped to his belt, tugging it open, her fingers unfastening his pants and pushing down inside his underwear, her cold fingers grasping his hard cock. He groaned deeply, clutching at her, his balance awkward without the cane, and she pushed at him, making him stumble, making him fall backwards onto the coat with a whoosh of breath from his lungs and a muffled laugh. Belle tugged at his pants, pulling his underwear down to free his straining cock, her fingers wrapping around it, and he threw his head back with a groan, arching his back as she took him deep inside her mouth.

" _Fuck_ , sweetheart!" he gasped, and let his hands sink into her hair, silky strands slipping between his fingers as she sucked at him.

His eyes flickered open, the bright blue of the sky between the veil of tree branches almost blinding, his senses heightened by arousal. He could hear the chirp of birds and the rustle of woodland creatures, could smell the sharp, herbal smell of pine and the earthy, heady scent of the leaf mulch, could feel the chill of the earth and the wet heat of Belle's sweet mouth. Her hands were sliding over his thighs, the touch of her fingertips against his exposed skin an electric sensation that shot through to his groin, and he groaned as she sucked, her tongue curling around him. He lifted his head off the ground, his chest heaving, watching her head moving up and down on him, her dark curls shining in the sunlight.

"God, I want you, my love!" he breathed. "I want you so much, Belle!"

She looked up at him, blue eyes startlingly bright, deep pink lips around the thickness of his cock, and he knew he wouldn't last. She seemed to sense it, letting him slip from her mouth and straightening up, tugging off one of her boots and pulling her tights and panties off one leg, her skin as pale as milk. She straddled him, taking him in hand, and he had a moment to worry about who else might be walking in the woods at almost ten a.m. on a Saturday morning before she lifted her hips and moved him into position. The air was cold, the chill of the patchy snow and the frozen ground spreading into his body through the coat, but when she sank down onto him she was _scalding_ , her wet, silky heat a delicious sensation, her warmth flooding into him. He threw his head back, swearing softly under his breath, his hips rising up to meet her, and she braced herself on his belly, tossing her dark hair out of her face with a moan of pleasure.

"Oh, Belle!" he whispered, shaking his head. "I'm not gonna last, sweetheart, I'm sorry!"

"I don't care!" she breathed, meeting his eyes as she rocked her hips. "I don't care! Come, if you need to. I want you to. I want you to come inside me, love!"

Her words inflamed him, increasing the sensation from her body, the pull and tug on his cock, the feel of her hands burrowing beneath his shirt, and he lost himself in the feel of her, in the taste of her still in his mouth, in the rising tide of sweetness spreading through him as he neared his peak. Belle quickened her pace, and he couldn't bear it, couldn't hold it, and he broke with a hoarse cry, pushing up inside her as his orgasm hit. Belle cried out with him, her moan changing to laughter as she came once more, giggles bubbling up out of her, and he shook off the starbursts in his head, chasing the shadows from his eyes as he gazed up at her. She was grinning widely, her eyes closed, her mouth open as she rocked slowly against him, and he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He swallowed hard, emotion stopping his throat, stealing his voice.

Belle let herself calm, her entire body tingling with the afterglow. She let her head drop, blinking at him with what she knew would be a wide and stupid grin. He was looking up at her with an unreadable expression, trying to catch his breath, and she felt her grin widen.

"Whoa," she said, and giggled again. He nodded, swallowing, and she put her head to the side.

"You okay?" she asked, and he nodded again, so she gently eased off him, rolling onto her back by his side and tugging up her panties, her left leg still exposed to the cold air. She could hear him, the rustle of clothing and clink of his belt buckle, the harsh sound of his zipper. His seed was already leaking out, an uncomfortable sensation in the crotch of her panties, but she didn't care. She rolled against his side, slipping an arm across his waist and laying her head on his chest, and he hugged her close, letting out a deep sigh.

"That was unexpected," he said quietly, and she grinned.

"Yeah. For me, too."

She lay there for a moment, listening to the chirp of birds, the caw of crows, and she drew patterns on his chest with the fingers of one hand, feeling the way his muscles twitched beneath his shirt at her touch.

"I love being with you," she said, and his hand covered hers, pressing it down, over his heart.

"Yes," he whispered.

There was silence for a while. Gold could feel the warmth of her hand beneath his, the familiar weight of her against him. He kissed the top of her head, rolling onto his side so that he could kiss her mouth, and her arms slid around him beneath his jacket, her lips soft and warm. The kiss was long and slow, and he ended it with a peck to her nose, nuzzling at her and making her smile.

"I made a decision," he said then, pulling back a little so that he could look her in the eyes. "I went to give Principal Mills my notice."

Belle's mouth fell open. "You _resigned_?"

"It seemed the most sensible thing to do," he said wryly. "It means that we can see one another, at least, as soon as I leave. I'm staying until the end of the academic year."

"So, early June?" she asked excitedly, propping herself up on one elbow. "In June we can - we can tell people? No more sneaking around?"

"Perhaps." He brushed her cheek with a forefinger. "We'll see how you feel about it nearer the time, shall we? Even if it's not technically illegal, people will still have issues with us being together."

"I guess." She nuzzled him again, then looked up. "But - your job. You love teaching!"

"Yes," he admitted. "I could always go back. Regina suggested that rather than leave permanently, I take a sabbatical. It's something to consider."

"So you'd go back when I go to college?" she asked, and then lay back with a sigh. " _If_ I go to college," she added despondently.

"You'll go to college," he said firmly. "Wherever you want to go, you can go, alright?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth, but he shook his head.

"Like I told you before," he said. "I have a lot of money. If we're to be together, it's yours too."

Her lips thinned, but she said nothing more, pushing him onto his back again and resting her head on his chest. He heaved a contented sigh, stroking her back with careless fingers, and Belle nuzzled his chest.

"I wish we could stay here forever," she said dreamily.

"You'd get cold," he said, and she shook her head.

"No I wouldn't. I can just snuggle you, hot stuff."

He snorted, amused. "Well, I'd get cold, it's fucking freezing."

"We can share body heat." She trailed fingertips over his chest, and he grinned.

"Hungry, then," he suggested, enjoying her playfulness, and she shook her head.

"Nope."

"Squirrels will run over us."

Belle giggled. "That would be adorable."

A rustle in the bushes made them both look up, and he was about to mention something more about squirrels when a large Dalmatian burst out from behind a tree and ran up to them, tail wagging.

"Shit!" squeaked Belle, as he licked her face, and she hurriedly sat up, trying to dress herself and looking around for her boot.

"Pongo!"

Gold's heart plummeted as he heard the voice of Doctor Hopper. He got to his feet as quickly as he could, snatching up his coat and scratching the excitable dog behind the ears to distract him from Belle, who had managed to get herself tangled up in her tights and was hopping on one foot.

"Go on!" he whispered at the dog, pointing back towards the cemetery, and Pongo wagged his tail. Gold sighed in frustration.

"You should go!" breathed Belle. "He might follow you out!"

Gold nodded tersely, grabbing his cane, and whistled to Pongo, striding off through the undergrowth to where he knew the woods would give way to the cemetery grounds. He could hear the dog following him, and breathed a sigh of relief as he broke through the treeline. Archie Hopper was there with an umbrella tucked under his arm, his nose reddened by the cold air. He looked relieved as Gold made his appearance.

"Oh, Mr Gold, you found Pongo," he said amiably.

"I rather think he found me," said Gold, his voice dry, and Archie frowned at his dog.

"What's that boy?" he asked sharply. "Drop!"

Gold turned to look, almost swearing as the dog dropped a small heeled boot at Archie's feet. He glared at the dog, who wagged his tail as though he'd just done something clever.

"Well, boy, looks as though someone's lost a boot, huh?" said Archie, as though the bloody animal could understand him. Gold sighed.

"I'll take that," he said. "I've no doubt the church has some sort of lost property system."

Archie picked up the boot, turning it over and over in his hands as his brow furrowed.

"It's - still warm," he said uncertainly. "Whoever lost it must be around here somewhere."

"In that case I'll take it back to where Pongo found me," said Gold calmly. "Perhaps the owner is around there somewhere."

"I could help…"

"No, no!" He waved a hand, turning his back. "I'll see you on Monday, Dr Hopper. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

"You - too…" Archie's voice trailed off a little as he made his way back in amongst the trees, and he breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he realised he wasn't being followed. Belle was waiting for him, eyes wide with anxiety as he entered the clearing, and she let her breath whoosh out in relief as he handed her the boot.

"Just let me take you home next time," he said dryly, and she giggled, clapping a hand to her mouth as she looked him over. She tugged on her boot and walked around him, still chuckling.

"You have leaves in your hair," she whispered, and reached up to pick them out, brushing more from the back of his coat as he groaned. Fucking wonderful.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, that was a close one!**

 **Next time: Carella talks to Belle**


	26. Truth

**A/N: Sorry it's taking me so long to update stuff, things are very busy in RL right now. Anyway, last chapter Archie and Pongo almost interrupted Gold and Belle's outdoor sex session. Here's what happened next.**

* * *

They made their way out through the trees to the cemetery, Belle's arm linked through his. Archie and Pongo were nowhere to be seen, but Belle still had a grin on her face that Gold was finding adorable.

"That was a close one," he warned her, and she giggled.

"I know. Sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but can you imagine if he'd come looking for Pongo ten minutes earlier?"

"All too well," he said dryly.

They made their way back to the path that led around the church to the gated entrance, and he felt an air of contentment as they strolled, arm-in-arm like any other couple. It couldn't last, of course, and they would have to pull apart before they reached the town, but for the moment it was a pleasant experience. Normality. Perhaps they would be able to do this in the summer, after he left the school. Oh, they'd get disgusted looks and snide comments, he had no doubt of that, but perhaps some of the townsfolk would be understanding, if not wholly accepting.

"Carella knows, by the way," he said. "About us."

Belle looked around at him, wide-eyed. "Really?" she asked anxiously. "You told her?"

He sighed. "I kissed you at the wedding," he said dryly, and she smirked.

"I remember."

"The kiss was on the wedding video," he added. "She and Ursula spent the best part of Thursday night ripping me to shreds."

"Oh." She worried her lower lip with her teeth, looking concerned. "What - what does that mean?"

He eyed her, amused. "It means that she wants to talk to you," he said. "I suggest you brace yourself on Wednesday."

"Crap!" she muttered, and he laughed, making her grin up at him.

"I like seeing you laugh," she said, her grip on his arm tightening, and he returned her smile.

They had made it almost to the first shops on Main Street before she slipped her arm out of his, and they walked side by side in comfortable silence until they reached Granny's. Belle turned to face him, spinning on the balls of her feet and clasping her hands in front of her.

"I have a shift to work," she said. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

He pursed his lips, warmth shining from his eyes as he looked at her.

"I feel a sudden desire for coffee and a piece of Granny's excellent lemon cake," he said. "So I rather think you'll see me in ten minutes. I'm just going to buy a newspaper."

She bit her lip, feeling as though she were about to burst with love for him, and swayed forwards on her toes, wanting to kiss him. Instinctively, he leaned in towards her before remembering himself and pulling back, and she blushed. He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling, then inclined his head and strode off towards the store. Taking a deep breath, Belle turned and marched up the path to the diner, catching Ruby's eye as she set plates of pancakes and bacon in front of Leroy and Walter. Ruby grinned at her and motioned towards the kitchen, and Belle followed her through, the clatter of pans and the shouts of the kitchen staff giving them a little privacy.

"Yeah, if you're gonna talk with your secret boyfriend in the middle of the street, you two might want to cut it out with the eye-sex," whispered Ruby, her face a picture of amusement. Belle blushed.

"Crap, you saw that?" she asked, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Oh, honey, it's _so obvious_!" she said. "I'm surprised you didn't jump him right there on the sidewalk!"

"We save that for the cemetery," muttered Belle, and Ruby spluttered, her eyes wide.

"Yeah, I'm gonna need the full story on that one," she said firmly, and Belle sighed, taking off her coat.

"Later, maybe," she said. "I have some things to tell you."

Ruby looked interested, but an order was called out, and so she grabbed a clean apron and threw it at Belle, going to snatch up the plates of eggs and bacon. Belle busied herself in running upstairs to change into her diner uniform and putting on her apron. When she made her way into the diner, Gold was just entering with a newspaper under his arm. He smiled at her from the doorway, making her bite her lower lip in excitement at seeing him.

"Down, girl!" whispered Ruby as she passed, and Belle blushed, hurrying over and pulling out her notepad to take Gold's order as he sat down at an empty table.

"Coffee, right, Mr Gold?" she said aloud, and he smiled at her, gold tooth gleaming.

"And a piece of the lemon cake, please, dear," he said. "I'm in the mood for something deliciously sweet but incredibly bad for me."

He winked at her, and her blush grew, so she turned her attention to the pad as she scribbled down the order.

"It'll be right out," she said, and hurried off to the kitchens as he opened his paper, Ruby's snorts of amusement following her out.

* * *

It was after seven that evening by the time she and Ruby managed to get some time alone. Granny had asked for help after their shift ended in preparing the apple pies, and Belle had suggested one of her mother's old recipes for apple-cinnamon crumble, which Granny agreed to let her try out. The recipe was a success, and Belle and Ruby sat curled on her bed with bowls of the hot dessert topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Belle stirred the hot apples, the sweet scent of brown sugar and toasted oats making her feel truly hungry for what seemed like the first time in months. Melting ice cream ran in pale rivulets over the soft chunks of fruit, and she hooked a spoonful into her mouth, the sharp tang of apples and earthy, fragrant cinnamon on her tongue.

"More study tomorrow?" asked Ruby. "I think we need to work on the math papers a little more."

"Agreed." Belle pulled a face. "I'm confident with the algebra, but I think I need more work on data analysis."

"Huh, I'm the opposite," said Ruby gloomily. "I really want to get a good score on this fricking paper, Belle. You up for a late night?"

"It's Phys Ed on Tuesday," said Belle dryly. "I think we can act like zombies if we need to. Not like I could be any worse, is it?"

Ruby chuckled, taking a mouthful of apples. She gestured with her spoon as she chewed.

"Come on then, what did you have to tell me about Gold?" she asked, and Belle smirked as she stuck the spoon in her mouth.

"He's given Principal Mills his notice," she said, and Ruby almost choked, wide-eyed.

"He _resigned_?" she said incredulously, and as Belle nodded she looked irritated, smacking the bedclothes with the flat of her hand. "Dammit, does that mean we get a substitute teacher?"

Belle shook her head, scooping up more of the apple crumble.

"He's seeing out the school year," she explained. "He may go back - Principal Mills suggested a year off rather than leaving completely."

"Wow." Ruby stirred her dessert, taking another mouthful. "This is for you, then, I take it. He's giving up his job?"

Belle smiled a little self-consciously. "Yeah."

"And it doesn't make him a deadbeat?" asked Ruby, with a grin, and Belle shoved her with a foot.

"He says he doesn't _need_ to teach, he just enjoys it," she said. "He makes a lot more money from his property portfolio. He used to work for some big pharmaceutical company owned by Carella's dad."

"Oh?" Ruby looked surprised. "I had no idea. That explains how he can afford to dress so well, and how he paid for Astrid and Carella." She shrugged, turning back to her dessert. "I guess if you're gonna bang a teacher, it may as well be a rich one."

Belle stuck out her tongue, and Ruby cackled. They ate in silence for a moment, the only sound the clink of spoons in the bowls. Ruby glanced up at Belle, swallowing her mouthful of apple.

"So I guess that means he won't be breaking the law, right?" she observed.

"Yeah," said Belle happily. "We can be 'out', Rubes. I won't have to hide it anymore."

Ruby shrugged, looking sceptical.

"You won't _have_ to," she agreed. "But you might _want_ to. You know what people are gonna say, right?"

Belle looked down at her bowl, her good mood darkened a little.

"I know," she admitted. "I just - I wish people understood."

"Some might," Ruby acknowledged. "Your friends. Your _real_ friends, I mean. Can't speak for his, if he has any."

Belle winced. "That reminds me, Carella knows. Apparently she wants to talk to me."

Ruby whistled. "Sounds serious. You think she'll try to talk you out of it?"

"I don't care," said Belle with a frown. "I know what I want, and I don't mean to let anyone try to tell me what they think is best for me."

"She's Gold's friend," Ruby pointed out. "Maybe she's thinking of what's best for _him_. That's what friends do."

* * *

Gold was sitting on his couch, head back, allowing the sweeping strings of Elgar's _Cello Concerto_ to wash over him. He had a glass of brandy in one hand, the deep bronze liquid sloshing back and forth as his hand kept time with the music. A knock at the front door jerked him out of the pleasant escapism, and he sat upright, frowning. For a moment he considered not answering, but on the outside chance that it was Belle he pushed himself to his feet, setting down the brandy glass and making his way through to the hall. A familiar visitor showed through the rippled glass, and he sighed as he opened the door.

"No need to look so disappointed," remarked Jefferson, bustling inside as he tugged off his gloves and rubbed his bare hands to warm them. He made his way through to the lounge without being asked, and Gold closed the door with a sigh, following him. Jefferson was standing before the fire, rubbing his hands briskly, and Gold turned down the music.

"Brandy?" he asked, and Jefferson nodded.

"Make it a large one, it's _freezing_ out there," he complained, and Gold nodded, pouring the drink and handing it to him. He sat down on the couch as Jefferson took a drink, shivering a little as he brandy hit his stomach.

"God, that's better!" he gasped, and raised his glass to Gold with a grin. "Your good health."

"It would probably be better if I drank less, but I appreciate the sentiment," said Gold dryly, and raised his own.

Jefferson watched him, firelight flickering across his face and highlighting his cheekbones. His nose had turned red with the cold, but his eyes were dark in the dim light, and somehow knowing. It was making Gold nervous. Jefferson took a drink, breaking eye contact as he swallowed.

"Any second thoughts about leaving school?" he said, and Gold sighed, shaking his head.

"No," he said. "It's the right decision. Doesn't mean I'll necessarily leave Storybrooke, though. I haven't settled on what I'm going to do yet."

"Hmm." Jefferson took another sip of brandy. He was unusually quiet, gazing into the brandy glass as he swirled the liquid inside, and Gold waited for him to say whatever was on his mind.

"Are you going to tell me why you're leaving?" he asked then, and Gold sat back, taking a drink.

"I told you," he said quietly. "It's personal."

"Uh-huh." Jefferson nodded slowly. "It's just that I happened to see you this morning. Talking to Belle French."

Gold felt a cold hand grip his heart, and hoped that his face remained smooth.

"Oh yes?" he said, amazed at how calm his voice sounded. Jefferson turned to face him, taking a deep breath.

"Yes," he said. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"What makes you think anything's going on?" asked Gold dismissively, and Jefferson sucked his teeth, looking up at the ceiling.

"The way you two walked perfectly in sync with one another," he said. "The way your face lit up when she smiled at you. The look in her eyes. The look in _your_ eyes."

Gold held his gaze for a moment before looking down at his glass. He opened his mouth to make a sardonic reply, but nothing came out, and he closed it again, feeling helpless. His chest seemed to swell with the lies he had prepared, the words sticking in his throat. The fire crackled, the snap of burning wood, a fierce blaze of orange sparks. Jefferson sighed.

"What are you doing, man?" he asked softly. "She's seventeen, have you lost your mind?"

"Perhaps," admitted Gold, looking up again. Jefferson was staring at him, but there was no disgust on his face. Exasperation, perhaps. Resignation. Disappointment.

"All this time I thought it was Jones and Nottingham we had to watch out for," he remarked, and Gold squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's not like that," he said quietly.

"Isn't it?"

"No." Gold grimaced, trying to find the words, to explain himself. "What we have, I thought at first it was a one-time thing. A dalliance, a moment of stupidity. It's more than that."

"Really?" Jefferson sounded sceptical. "What is it, then? True love?"

Gold's lips twitched a little. "Would that surprise you?"

"Not from her side, no." He swirled the brandy in his glass before tossing it back. "I understand a teenage infatuation. What I don't understand is how you could let yourself get drawn into one."

"It's not an infatuation!" snapped Gold, and Jefferson raised an eyebrow.

"How would you know?"

There was a moment of tense, uncomfortable silence, and Gold drained his glass, reaching for the bottle again and pouring himself another measure. He held it up, not expecting Jefferson to accept, but to his surprise the other man sat down in the armchair next to the couch, holding out his glass for a refill.

"Of course, Regina's gonna kill you," he said conversationally. "Probably mount your head on a spike in front of the school gates as a warning. Given the mood she's in right now, you could be getting off easy."

"Hilarious," said Gold dryly. "And should this get out, I expect Regina's wrath will be the least of my worries."

Jefferson chuckled, and there was more silence. He rolled the glass between his hands, the light winking off the brandy and the silver rings he wore.

"How long?" he asked quietly, and Gold shrugged.

"A few months," he admitted, and Jefferson whistled.

"It's all making sense," he remarked. "Your questions, your mood, the fact that you were drinking yourself into an early grave…" He shook his head. "I suspected something when I saw you two at the wedding, but I told myself you'd never be _that_ stupid…"

"Well, I live to confound your expectations," said Gold sourly, and Jefferson waved an impatient hand.

"Don't get on your high horse! I don't think you get to play the victim here."

"I'm not." Gold pinched the bridge of his nose. "I never meant for any of this to happen, you have to believe me."

Jefferson sat back in the chair, crossing his legs as he looked him over, as though he were searching for something and not finding it.

"She's the one, right?" he said. "The one you were heartbroken over? I'm guessing you managed to work through it."

"She's the one," said Gold quietly, putting more meaning into it than Jefferson had intended. "I love her, Jefferson."

"Gold, you can't be serious!"

"I am." He sipped at his drink, relishing the fire that burned through him, and there was silence.

"So, that's why you're leaving," said Jefferson, eventually. "You want to be with her."

"Yes," said Gold, and took another drink. Jefferson shook his head.

"You know it's not gonna be that easy," he warned. "Whether you work at the school or not, people will still condemn you. And her. You more than her."

"People can say what they want about me," said Gold testily. "I don't give a fuck."

"And Belle?"

He sighed, running a hand over his face.

"She says she doesn't care," he admitted. "Although she seemed surprised that people wouldn't just want us to be happy."

"People might put it down to her grieving," nodded Jefferson, and cocked an eyebrow at Gold. "You sure that's not what it is? She did just lose her father."

"Oh, and I'm the replacement, am I?" snapped Gold, stung by the comment. "I can assure you it couldn't be further from the truth. My feelings for her are _hardly_ paternal!"

"Look, I don't wanna know," said Jefferson hastily, holding up his hands, brandy coming dangerously close to spilling. "I'm dating the sheriff. At least this way if he asks me for any of the details I can say I don't know."

Gold sighed again, leaning back against the cushions.

"Will you tell him?" he asked, resignation in his voice.

"You know I should, right?" said Jefferson, his tone careful, and Gold nodded wearily.

"Tell him, then," he said despondently. "It just means I'll have to bring my leaving date forward by a few months. Oh, and prepare myself for some jail time, I suppose. Perhaps I should start putting aside those books I keep meaning to read and never get around to."

"Don't be so dramatic!" scoffed Jefferson. "I'm not gonna tell on you, okay? I should, I know that. I probably would if it was anyone but you."

"Don't compromise your morals because of our friendship," sighed Gold. "I don't deserve any special treatment, believe me. You're right. I should have known better. I should never have touched her. But I did."

"Hmm." Jefferson was silent for a moment. "So when you went through your heartbroken phase - you broke up with her, didn't you?"

Gold leant forwards with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, feeling the sharp stab of agony at the memory, the stinging pain of regret.

"I was trying to make things better," he said, his voice soft. "God, Jefferson, I hurt her so fucking much!"

"And yourself?" Jefferson nodded slowly as Gold winced. "Yeah, I thought so. I always said that if you fell for someone you'd fall hard."

"Yeah," said Gold quietly, concentrating on a spot on the rug, a tiny red rosebud, its petals furled tight. Jefferson shook his head.

"Look, I may not agree with what you've done," he said. "But I guess you're trying to do the right thing by leaving the school. What about long term? Assuming Granny doesn't shoot you in the nuts with a crossbow."

He grinned, and Gold gave him a wry look.

"I ask her to move in when she's eighteen," he said. "She can go to college and do whatever she wants. Maybe..." He hesitated, turning the glass between his fingers nervously. "Maybe she'll marry me."

"And when she meets some hot guy her own age at college?" asked Jefferson quietly, and Gold winced.

"That's a risk I'll have to take, isn't it?" he said. "Although knowing Belle I'd be more worried about her having a hot professor."

"Hotter than you? Impossible!"

Gold grinned a little wearily, and Jefferson sat back, sipping at the brandy.

"What about you?" he asked. "You know you'll never teach at Storybrooke again. Not after this gets out."

Gold let his head drop. "I know," he said quietly. "There are other options. I could work for Carella's father again, I suppose."

"You could always move," suggested Jefferson. "Go teach in Boston or something, and never tell anyone how the two of you met."

Gold's lips twitched, the briefest hint of a smile.

"Perhaps," he said. "We really haven't thought that far ahead. I don't want to take her away from her friends, Jefferson. They're all she has left."

"She would have left Storybrooke to go away to college anyhow," pointed out Jefferson. "Maybe you should use it for a fresh start. Go somewhere no one knows you. Go back to Scotland, if you want."

"Maybe." Gold drained his glass and set it down with a sigh. "We'll see. I just want to make her happy. She's had enough heartache and grief in her life."

"Yeah." Jefferson was watching him with that knowing stare of his. "Well, I hope you can both be happy. There's someone for everyone, right? Maybe you're right. Maybe you'll make it."

"I hope so." Gold uncorked the brandy bottle again and poured them each another drink, and Jefferson sat back, cradling the bowl of the glass in one hand.

"I expect an invite to the wedding," he remarked, and Gold grinned at him.

"I would guess that I could count the guests on the fingers of one hand," he said dryly. "So by all means come. Carella couldn't drink the bar dry on her own."

"Does she know?" asked Jefferson, and Gold nodded. "What did she say?"

"She and Ursula yelled at me for a bit," said Gold dryly. "Then they said I was a fucking idiot, but that they'd support me." He raised his glass. "A little like you. I may fuck up in every other aspect of my life, but apparently I pick excellent friends."

"The best," grinned Jefferson, and clinked his glass against Gold's.

* * *

Monday dawned bright and surprisingly warm for early January, and the girls walked through melting ice and snow on their way to school, sipping at take-out cups of coffee from Granny's.

"Did you do the homework?" asked Emma suddenly. "I forgot to read that chapter for English, what was it about?"

"Jane found out that Mr Rochester was keeping his crazy wife in the attic," said Ruby. "So she called off their wedding and ran away with only the clothes on her back."

"Crap!" spluttered Emma. "How about you yell 'spoiler alert' next time?"

Ruby shrugged. "You asked. Anyway, I've read the whole thing. It's really good."

"It's one of my favourites," nodded Belle. "She goes away because she can't be with him, because it's not right. She's true to herself, no matter how much it hurts."

"Because _society_ says it's not right, you mean," said Emma knowingly, as they mounted the steps to the main school building. "She should just have stuck the middle finger up at everyone and lived in sin with the guy."

"But that's not who she was," insisted Belle. "She couldn't do that, it would be a betrayal of everything she stood for. She couldn't go to him until it was right for _her_."

"Hmm." Emma took a slurp of her coffee. "Still say she should have just banged the guy and said 'fuck 'em'."

"Well, if it was set in this day and age things might have been different," admitted Belle, as they turned into the corridor. "But then the story wouldn't…"

She cut off at the loud and rapid click of heels as Principal Mills marched up to them, coming to a halt with her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing.

"Miss French, why weren't you in school last Wednesday and Thursday?" she demanded, and Belle exchanged a confused look with Ruby and Emma.

"I - have Wednesdays off, and most of Thursday," she said uncertainly. "It was - it was your suggestion, Principal Mills."

"Until the passing of your father, yes," snapped Ms Mills. "I presumed you would be returning full time once you were ready to come back to school. Is there some reason you need to take those days off?"

"I - um - I was getting tutored," said Belle lamely. "Math and chemistry. I didn't want to fall behind."

Ms Mills' expression softened a little, and she straightened up, letting her hands drop to her sides. Her fingers opened and closed a couple of times, as though she was trying not to strangle something.

"Well, that's commendable, dear, but it's no longer necessary," she said briskly. "I'll expect to see you here all week as normal. No doubt Mr Gold will be delighted to have you back in his class."

She turned on her heel and walked off back down the corridor, high heels clicking, and Emma snorted.

"Guess that's that," she said. "Sorry, Bellz, you'll have to suffer Gold's moods with the rest of us."

Belle shared a look with Ruby, who seemed to be hovering somewhere between concern and amusement.

"Great," she sighed. "I guess I'm rescheduling my sessions with Carella, then."

"See if she'll see you after school," suggested Ruby. "Maybe she wouldn't mind me tagging along, I could do with some help on the math front."

"I'll ask," agreed Belle, as Emma busied herself with her locker. "I'll call her at lunch and see if we can change."

She chewed her lip, worried at the thought of how Carella was going to react to her, given Gold's comments, and Ruby squeezed her shoulder sympathetically.

"It'll be okay," she whispered. "She'll understand."

"I doubt it," said Belle gloomily, and shoved her bag in her locker with a sigh. A conversation with Carella about her relationship with Gold wasn't something she was looking forward to.

* * *

In the end, Carella agreed to come over that evening instead.

"I can do evenings after school," she had said when Belle called her. "Five until seven, if that's any good."

"Fine," Belle had said a little nervously. "I'm sorry to be a pain, it's just..."

"Your Principal throwing her weight around, yes, I know," said Carella in a bored voice. "Which means you'll be in class with your Mr Gold, I presume. Well, well, darling, I suspect we'll be able to move on to bigger and better things. At least we should be able to get you to ace your tests, given all this extra tuition."

"Right," Belle had said, and Carella had rung off with a cheery farewell that sounded a little forced. It made her even more nervous.

* * *

Ruby agreed to make herself scarce for the first lesson, given that Carella intended to talk to Belle, and Granny was working in the diner until ten, so Belle showed her through to the empty lounge where her books already sat on the small table. Carella shrugged off her coat and threw it over the back of one of the chairs, dropping herself down onto the cushions and crossing her legs. She eyed Belle, one foot bouncing up and down, and Belle lowered herself into the chair opposite.

"Well, darling," she said, in clipped tones. "What _have_ you been up to?"

Belle hesitated, looking at her clasped hands, resting on her lap.

"I know that you know about us," she began. "Rum told me. I don't - I mean - I'm not sure what you want me to say."

Carella pursed her lips. "Well, you could tell me how it started," she suggested, and Belle blushed, ducking her head.

"I'd had a crush on him since I first met him, and I told him about it," she muttered. "We kind of - well, that was the first time, actually. He felt guilty."

"So he made the first move," mused Carella, and Belle nodded.

"After that it was kind of me chasing him.," she added. "He kept telling me we shouldn't, that I shouldn't come over."

"It was up to him to control himself, no matter what you did," said Carella sharply.

"That's what Ruby says," admitted Belle, and Carella sniffed.

"Well, at least you have one sensible person to talk to about this," she said. "Still, I suppose the deed is done, isn't it? Fairly clear the two of you couldn't keep your hands off one another, so we are where we are."

Belle wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she said nothing.

"The question is, where do you go from here?" said Carella briskly. "I'm well aware that he already broke your heart, and his own in the process, the bloody idiot. Hardly an auspicious start, is it darling?"

"I wouldn't ever want to go through that again," admitted Belle. "I don't think anything could be worse than that."

Carella's laugh was humourless.

"Ah, my sweet, innocent child," she said dryly. "If only that were true."

"I know we have the odds stacked against us," said Belle stiffly. "I'm not an idiot. But we've moved past the hurt, and we're working on things. I asked him to be honest with me, and he told me how he felt, and…"

"Oh, I'm well aware that he's head over heels in love with you," sniffed Carella, waving an imperious hand. "He told Ursula and I _exactly_ how he felt. It was positively _nauseating_. What I'm wondering is what _you_ feel for _him_."

"I love him," said Belle immediately, and Carella snorted loudly.

"Well, of _course_ you do!" she said impatiently. "He's your first, he's older if not bloody wiser, and I imagine he knows how to use that tongue of his for something far more satisfying than sarcasm. Not to mention those lovely long fingers."

Belle blushed fiercely, squirming with embarrassment.

"It's not - I mean..." she began defensively. "It's more than just - _that_."

"Is it?" asked Carella, her tone sceptical. "I'm sure it may feel that way to you now, but then _everything_ feels more intense at your age. That doesn't mean it stays that way."

Belle glared at her. "I don't see what you can _possibly_ know about how I feel!" she said heatedly. "What makes you think you do?"

Carella rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh.

"Because when I was seventeen, I was _also_ sleeping with my teacher," she said patiently. "The circumstances were slightly different; he did have a wife and children, after all, but nonetheless I can remember exactly how wonderful and exciting it was. And how utterly doomed."

She leant forwards, elbows on her knees, silver bracelets jingling, and Belle swallowed awkwardly at the earnest expression on her face.

"Doomed?" she said thickly, and Carella sighed.

"Look, darling, it all seemed like the stuff of daydreams when I was in it," she said. "He was handsome and charming and interesting, not at _all_ like the boys I knew, of course. And the physical side was - well, it was delightful, although I had nothing to compare it to." She smirked, waggling her eyebrows. "I thought I'd _never_ love anyone the way I loved him."

"I guess - I guess it didn't work out," said Belle. "His wife, his family…"

"Oh, it would never have worked, I know that now," said Carella dismissively, waving a hand. "Wasn't just the wife and kids, we were too different. I look at myself now - I even look at what I was in my twenties, and I know it wouldn't have worked. Not without me giving up too much of myself, anyway. People change, Belle. Some more than others, but all of them change."

"I know that," said Belle, feeling mutinous. "I don't expect to stagnate and stay seventeen forever. He wouldn't want me to."

"No." Carella sat back in the chair, arms on the padded sides. "He'd want you to grow, and become who you were meant to be."

"Then I don't see the issue," said Belle, a little coldly, and Carella flicked her hair out of her face with a sigh.

"I've been good friends with Rum for many years now," she said gently. "I'm not exaggerating when I say that I've never seen him in love. I've never seen him like this about anyone."

Belle ducked her head, feeling gratified, but expecting that that wasn't the point.

"I suppose, as a friend, I'm just concerned for what may happen when you decide that he's not what you want," said Carella carefully, and Belle frowned.

"Of course he is!" she said, annoyed. "I can't imagine wanting anyone else!"

"Which was my earlier statement on my English teacher, pretty much word for word, I believe?" said Carella dryly. "And yet I managed to end up blissfully happy and married to a lesbian marine biologist."

Belle looked at the carpet, fidgeting awkwardly and unsure what to say to convince her. There was a moment of silence, and Carella let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Look, it's another perspective, that's all," she said wearily. "Let's deal with the practicalities. You mentioned your friend Ruby. Does anyone else know?"

Belle shook her head, and she nodded.

"Probably just as well," she said. "It'll come out, though, you know that? You have to decide how the two of you are going to handle it when it does. The entire town will be against you." She inclined her head. "Him more than you, I suspect. They'll just feel sorry for you. Sometimes that's worse."

"I can handle it," muttered Belle. "They've been weird around me since Papa got sick, I doubt it would be that different."

"Perhaps." She sounded unconvinced. "No one will talk to him, though. At best they'll be polite to his face and gossip behind his back. And he won't teach again. Pity."

"But - he's taking a sabbatical," insisted Belle. "He can go back when I'm eighteen, he told me! He said…"

She cut off at Carella's snort, biting her lip.

"Is that what he told you?" Carella shook her head. "Darling, when this gets out, he'll be lucky if he ever teaches again. If he does, it certainly won't be here!"

"But - but - it won't be an issue!" protested Belle. "He won't be my teacher, I won't be underage! It shouldn't matter!"

"Oh, now you're acting like a teenager!" scoffed Carella. "Stop seeing the world in black and white, it doesn't work that way! Whether you're allowed to be together legally or not won't matter, it's the _look_ of the thing, darling."

"You mean people will object to him being at the school where we met," said Belle quietly, and Carella nodded.

"Consider it from the point of view of the parents," she said. "Not to mention your Principal Mills. All it would take is a snide word from one of them, a suggestion that they'll pull their children out, and she'd be wondering if it was really worth the bother of hiring him."

Belle bit her lip, upset, and Carella leaned forward, taking her hand and squeezing it.

"I do believe that he loves you," she said gently. "He has a lot of love to give, I've always known that, and I'm happy that he's finally found someone to share that with. But I don't want to see him hurt."

"I have no intention of hurting him!" protested Belle, and cut off as Carella released her and sat back.

"I know that," she said quietly. "I hope that you're right, and it all works out. I hope that the two of you are blissfully happy together, and that you can settle down with him and make babies and be sure that this is everything you wanted, that he's the one for you for now and always."

Belle opened and closed her mouth, a little overwhelmed, and Carella nodded.

"But if you can't," she added. "If you think that this is just about seeking comfort, or a distraction from the grieving process, or your initiation into the world of adulthood…"

"I don't think that!" protested Belle, but Carella held up a hand, cutting her off.

"If you're going to break his heart," she said gently. "Please do it sooner, rather than later. Please do it before he throws away everything he's worked for. Before he becomes a pariah in this town."

* * *

 **A/N: Tough love is tough.**


	27. Realisation

**A/N: I am so, so sorry this has taken so long to update. My muse wanted to write other, less angsty stuff. I should have listened to it. Anyway, on with the tale**

* * *

Belle was silent and subdued after Carella left, the pointed comments and shrewd observations unearthing insecurities, fuelling doubts and releasing the guilt she had kept locked up tight in her own mind and tried not to acknowledge. The lesson itself had gone badly; Belle knew she hadn't prepared for the session as she should, and there were too many thoughts running through her head to allow her to concentrate on the new material they were covering. Carella took the poor performance in her stride, remaining calm and helpful, but by the end of the two hours she was beginning to show her frustration, as was Belle. She wasn't used to failing at her studies, and a snide voice in the back of her mind suggested that perhaps if she actually _did_ study for a change, instead of sneaking off to sleep with Gold, it wouldn't be an issue. There was too much truth in that to ignore, and Belle grew angry with herself for falling behind, and bitter at Carella for planting doubts in her mind. It was upsetting, making her taciturn and morose, and she was grateful that Ruby took the hint and didn't press her on the conversation after Carella swept from the house in a cloud of perfume and cigarette smoke.

It was much later, when they had eaten dinner and Belle was sitting on her bed in her pyjamas, staring at nothing, that she heard a gentle tap at her door. Ruby poked her head around, holding out a mug of hot cocoa with a look of sympathy in her eyes that made Belle want to cry.

"If you don't want to talk about it, just tell me to get lost," she said, and Belle shook her head.

"It's okay, Rubes, come on in," she said. "Shut the door behind you, though."

Ruby obeyed, handing over the cocoa and climbing on to the end of the bed facing Belle. She cradled her own mug in her hands, curling her legs beneath her.

"I take it the lesson didn't go well," she noted, and Belle pulled a face.

"No. It's partly my fault, I didn't do the preparation."

"Hmm." Ruby blew on her cocoa, sending up a tiny cloud of steam. "Will you be okay for tomorrow's lesson?"

"If I can find some time between now and then to do the exercises Carella set me," said Belle, rubbing an eye tiredly. "If you want to go through them with me tomorrow lunchtime I'd appreciate it."

"I'd be happy to, I could do with the extra practice." Ruby took a sip of cocoa. "How about we study on Wednesday, too? You're back in class, right? We could stay after school, I bet the library will be pretty empty."

"I guess." Belle turned her mug around in her cupped hands, staring into its depths. "I really need to pull my finger out, Rubes," she admitted. "I'm screwing up. I'll totally flunk the S.A.T.s at this rate."

Ruby winced, shifting a little uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I - didn't want to say anything, but you haven't exactly been pulling the study hours you used to."

"Yeah," Belle said quietly, not looking up.

"I guess it's not surprising," ventured Ruby, after a moment of silence. "You've had so much to deal with this past year, I mean. Stuff you're still dealing with now."

"Yeah."

There was more silence.

"If you - wanted to talk about it…" said Ruby. "If you think it would help, I'm here. I know it's not just your studies getting you down. I know Carella spoke to you about Gold."

Belle ran a hand up and down her arm, feeling awkward, but Ruby simply sipped at her cocoa, waiting patiently until she was ready to speak. Belle sighed, taking a sip of her cocoa and flicking back her dark curls as she set the mug on the nightstand.

"I thought we were heading somewhere," she said, her voice low. "And now - oh God, I don't know! There are so many things I just hadn't considered, and now I feel stupid!"

"You're the least stupid person I know," said Ruby gently. "Now what's the problem?"

"He said he was going to take a sabbatical," said Belle. "Take a year out, until I was eighteen, then go back to teaching. Carella says there's no way. She says he'll never teach again, not here. And she's right."

"Yeah," admitted Ruby. "I can't see Principal Mills being too happy about taking him back, can you?"

"And then there's the town," added Belle. "She says no one will speak to him. That's if they don't just spit in his face, of course."

"You knew that," Ruby reminded her. "We talked about it. Deep down, you knew."

"I know." Belle's mouth worked, her hands plucking at the top of one of the soft boots she wore. "I guess I was trying not to think about it. I mean, I knew things wouldn't be easy, he already told me that, but I was hoping it would be more like people being disapproving behind our backs, not openly hostile."

Ruby sighed, running her fingers through the curtain of dark hair she had pulled over her shoulder.

"Look, I have to say I agree with Carella on this one," she said. "You know what this town is like. Gold's gonna be scum of the earth to a lot of people here when this gets out."

"Yeah," said Belle quietly. "Granny'll want to kill him, I guess."

"True, and he'll probably have to wear a box for a few months until she gets used to the idea," agreed Ruby, with a snicker of amusement.

Belle chuckled a little, imagining Granny on the warpath with a steely eye and a pair of heavy-soled boots, ready to kick Gold in the groin at a moment's notice.

"I think she'd come around, in the end," she said slowly. "It's the rest of them. They'll treat him like dirt, I know it."

"Okay, but do you seriously think that'll bother him?" asked Ruby. "I mean, the guy's not known for his wide circle of friends, is he?"

"Carella and Ursula," allowed Belle. "Although they don't live in Storybrooke, so I guess it doesn't count. And - and he's friends with Mr Milliner. Apart from that I don't know. Anyway, that's not the point."

"Then what is it?" persisted Ruby, and Belle shrugged uncomfortably.

"I just don't want him ostracised," she said. "And if I'm honest, I don't really want everyone knowing my business either."

"It's Storybrooke," said Ruby patiently. "You know that's gonna happen whoever you date, right?"

"I guess," sighed Belle. "I don't want people feeling sorry for me when there's no need. Or - or people thinking I've _seduced_ him, or something, that would be gross."

"No one's gonna think that," said Ruby firmly. "They'll all see him as the villain of the piece, trust me."

"But that wouldn't be true either!" protested Belle. "There are no _villains_ here, he didn't take advantage of me, we just want to be together!"

Ruby shrugged.

"The town won't see it that way, honey," she said. "Your father just died and it gets out a month or so later that you're sleeping with your teacher? Gross or not, we both know what they'll all be thinking. And they'll blame him, not you."

Belle sighed in frustration, rolling her eyes.

"I just - I never thought things were gonna be so _hard_ ," she complained. It's like everywhere we turn there's something else blocking us. Carella thinks - she thinks we won't last."

"Is that what she said?" asked Ruby, and Belle shrugged.

"Kind of. She says she was in a similar situation when she was my age, and it would never have lasted because they were too different. Because she changed."

"Everyone changes," said Ruby. "Doesn't mean you can't change together."

"I know." Belle dropped her eyes, fingertips plucking at one of the embroidered flowers on her bedspread. "I get the feeling she thinks my heart isn't in it. She thinks I'll end up leaving him, hurting him."

Ruby winced, leaning back a little.

"That you don't really love him?" she asked. "Is that what she meant?"

"It was something she suggested," muttered Belle, reaching for her cocoa. "I don't believe that. I know I love him."

"Then what's upsetting you?" asked Ruby, putting her head to the side, and Belle hesitated again, her jaw working a little.

"What if it's not enough? What if, at the end of everything, _we're_ not enough?"

Ruby wrinkled her nose. "I don't understand."

"I don't want to leave Storybrooke," said Belle, looking at her with a pleading expression. "Not right now, not when I still have friends here. You, and Granny, and Emma and Mary - you're all I have in the world now. I just - I just don't think I could leave."

"So stay," said Ruby gently. "No one's asking you to leave. Stay."

"How can I, if there's no place for us?" asked Belle, her voice thick with emotion. "How can we stay if everyone turns their back when we walk down the street? When he can't work because no one will have him?"

"Screw 'em," said Ruby flatly. "You'll always have a place here, no matter what. But you know we'll be going to college next year, right? It's not like we're all gonna be stuck in this hole forever. Move to Boston, or something. Gold can get a teaching job there."

Belle hunched her shoulders, shrugging a little.

"I told you, I - I don't know if I can afford college," she said, uncomfortable with the admission. "Dad put money aside, but there's only enough for maybe two years. If I'm really careful."

Ruby sighed, shaking her head.

"Belle, Gold's got plenty of money. Do you really think you have to worry about that?"

"I don't want to have to rely on him," said Belle obstinately, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Then you're being an idiot," she said. "You should go to college, and he can afford it. Let him help."

Belle shrugged again, and Ruby put her head to the side, her expression curious.

"There's something more going on here than what the Storybrooke gossips might think, isn't there?" she said. "What is it, sweetie?"

Belle chewed her lip, her belly crawling with anxiety.

"Carella said…" she began, and hesitated. "She suggested it might be because of losing Papa. Like - I don't know - like I've thrown myself into this because I don't want to deal with my grief."

"Okay," said Ruby carefully. "It's a valid point, I guess, but what do _you_ think?"

Belle pulled a face, wrestling with the same thoughts she had been having since Carella had left.

"I don't think it's that," she said slowly. "What I feel for him, Rubes, it feels _so real_."

"I sense a 'but' coming," said Ruby, and Belle gave her a rueful smile.

" _But_ ," she continued. "I do think that since we got back together, I haven't been dealing with Papa's loss. With his - with his _death._ "

She stumbled around the word, unwilling to give it form in her mouth, to loose it into the air and make it real, make it fact. Guilt gnawed at her, pushing her to speak, and she dropped her eyes, concentrating on her pale fingers twisting the mug of cocoa around and around.

"I've been feeling…" she said hesitantly. "God, this is gonna sound awful, but I've been _happy_ , Rubes."

She raised her head, waiting for a reaction, but Ruby merely rubbed her leg affectionately, her eyes wide and full of compassion.

"There's nothing to say you can't find happiness because your dad is gone," she said gently. "He wouldn't want you to be upset."

"It's not a question of not wanting to be upset," said Belle, screwing up her face as she tried to find the words. "It's like - it's like I've kind of shut him out of my mind, like I don't want to deal with it. I think - I think maybe I _need_ to."

"Okay." Ruby continued to stroke her leg, a warm, comforting touch. "So - what does that mean for you and Gold?"

"I don't know." Belle let her head roll back against the wall with a sigh. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something, I don't know. I just know that I need to spend some time dealing with what's happened." She took a drink of cocoa. "And studying, I guess," she added, with a wry smile.

"So take some time," said Ruby. "Gold will understand, and if he doesn't, tell him to go screw himself. Take all the time you need to say goodbye to your dad and sort your head out."

"Yeah." Belle's voice was barely a whisper, and she bent her head to stare at the bedspread again. "I don't want to hurt him, Rubes. That's the last thing I want."

"He broke your heart," said Ruby, her tone suddenly sharp, and Belle raised her head with a sad smile.

"And that's exactly why I don't want to break his," she said. "I know how much it hurts. Oh, I don't know what to do, Rubes! I don't know how to fix this, but I _need_ to if we're gonna move forward."

"Belle," said Ruby gently. "He'll be okay, you hear me? Stop worrying about other people. Focus on _you_ , for once in your life."

Belle sighed, but nodded, lifting her head and giving Ruby a watery smile. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps some time to deal with her past would help her to face her future.

* * *

Ruby stayed with her until after eleven, changing the topic of conversation when she saw that Belle was getting upset, and talking of other things. Over another mug of cocoa, they discussed S.A.T. preparation, but that only made Belle anxious again, so Ruby switched topics to the rumours of a school dance in June, and her current irritation with her boyfriend over his inability to understand why she didn't find watching his soccer practice interesting. The conversation was a welcome distraction, and Belle had thought that talking over her fears and her guilt would help her feel better, that perhaps she would wake the next morning and feel as though some of her burdens had disappeared. Instead, she suffered dark dreams of being chased, of being trapped, of monstrous forms stalking her.

She awoke not long after six feeling as though she had had no rest at all, and pushed herself up out of bed and down to the kitchen to make some coffee. She sat at the kitchen table in the harsh light from the overhead lamps, the slow, ponderous tick of the wall clock in the background as she thought over her concerns. It appeared that there were definitely issues there that needed to be faced and dealt with, but she decided that she wouldn't make any decisions about what to do until she had visited her father's grave.

Coffee drunk, she made her way out into the dark of the morning, the sunrise no more than a pale glow on the horizon and the cold air making her catch her breath. She walked briskly, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her coat, the frigid air biting at her. The streets of Storybrooke were deserted, her footsteps seeming very loud against the frosted sidewalks, and it made her nervousness increase. By the time she got to the cemetery there was a little more light to see by, and slipping through the gate that led to the graveyard made her oddly calm. She slowed her pace, walking through the the lines of headstones, her outstretched fingers scraping a layer of frost from each and causing tiny showers of white powder to litter the graves beneath, an offering to the dead.

The dim light of the coming dawn made it hard to see her footing, and she stumbled a little as she rounded the side of the church, grasping at the cold granite curve of an older headstone to steady herself. Her heart clenched a little as she saw her destination, a grim rectangle of stone with its bright new lettering signalling the recent occupant of the grave below it. She wondered if a tiny part of her would always feel that brief moment of surprise and the inevitable, crushing grief that followed, as though she had forgotten until seeing the grave itself that both her parents were dead, that she was an orphan. In the early days of her father's passing she had been almost too exhausted to dream, for which she had been grateful. The reality of losing him was bad enough, and she hadn't wanted to face it in her dreams too. She had expected the dreams to start once the initial shock had worn off, for her nights to be restless and upsetting. But since she had buried his body, since she had made up with Gold and moved forward from their tentative peace to sharing his bed to planning their future, she had managed to block much of the horror of the previous year from her mind. It was almost as though she had forgotten her father, and she hated herself for it.

Guilt made her squirm uncomfortably, and she forced herself to look at the grave, at the permanent reminder that she had no blood family left in the world. Squatting down, she brushed the spiderweb-tracing of frost from the face of the headstone, her fingertips running over the letters of her parents' names and their dates of birth and death.

"Hey, Papa," she said quietly.

She sat in silence for a moment or two, listening to the sounds of the town coming to life around her, the rustle and chirp of birds, the distant rumble of a car engine.

"So, things have been okay since I last came over," she said. "I mean, still kind of weird, but we're talking again, and even sort of making plans. He wants to be with me. _Properly_ be with me, not just - well, not just physical stuff. He even gave up work so we could be together more quickly."

She cut off, trying to think of what to say, how to express what she was feeling.

"And now I feel guilty," she went on. "And I _hate_ that, Papa, I _hate_ it. I feel guilty because I'm happy, and part of me thinks I shouldn't be, like I don't have that _right_. Ruby thinks I'm being stupid. She says I have every right to be happy, and that you wouldn't want me to be miserable. I know that, I do, but I can't shake it."

The wind picked up a little, trying to get through her coat, and she shivered, hunching in on herself and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I think - I think I might know why it is," she said, her voice low. "Carella said I might be - using - him."

She cut off. It was a painful thing to give voice to. A terrible thing, to question whether she knew her own mind. Whether her love was real, and true, or whether it was a way to run from her pain and block out the darkness of her grief.

"I don't believe that," she said quietly. "At least, I don't doubt my feelings for him. But - but that's not to say that I think she's wrong about everything. She was right about some things. She was right - she was right that I've tried to forget my pain. I tried to forget what happened to you."

There was a sharp pain in her heart, and she squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing at her chest through the thick wool of her coat. Her eyes were prickling and stinging with unshed tears, and she swallowed hard, her breath shuddering a little.

"I - I don't know what to do, Papa," she said, her voice breaking a little. "Or at least, I think maybe I _do_ know, but I don't want to do it. I don't want to hurt him, I don't! I'm probably not making much sense..."

She cut off again, chewing her lip anxiously. The sound of the birds grew louder, squawks and chirps and the harsh cawing of crows in the trees beyond the cemetery. A stray thought flitted through her mind, a remembrance of the page of a book, in which crows were messengers from the spirit world. She felt as though they were judging her, screaming her father's anger at her lover from beyond the grave.

"I…"

She cut off, squeezing her eyes shut. It felt strange, talking to a hunk of cold stone and pretending that she was talking to her father. Strange and lonely. She tried not to think of how he would have comforted her, had he been alive, How he would have held her close and kissed her forehead as she breathed in his familiar scent of tobacco and shaving cream. Shaking her head, she willed herself to speak those thoughts she had found most painful.

"I - forget you," she said, stumbling over the words, the admission stabbing at her, tears welling in her eyes. "When I'm in his arms I _forget_ you. And then I feel so guilty because it's only been a month, and I shouldn't be _happy_ , I shouldn't be able to just _forget_. But it's easier. It's so much easier to pretend, and I'm so _tired_..."

Tears began to course down her cheeks, the breeze chilling her skin where the tear-tracks left them wet, and she wiped them away, her breath hitching as she bit back a sob.

"I know you wouldn't like us being together," she went on. "But I have to think of my own life, now you're not around. I have to do what's best for me, Papa. I have to let you go. And right now I can't. I'm not ready. So I have to _get_ ready. I have to take some time, and stop being a bloody coward, and face this, or it'll never get better."

The words sounded good, she thought. Strong. As though she was determined, as though she knew what she wanted.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you, and I miss you, and I wish you were still here to tell me what to do."

The cold was making her feet numb, and she pushed herself upright, dashing away stray tears as she did so. Her lower lip trembled, but she stepped back from the grave, making her way back around the church and towards the gate. The sun was rising, a reddish-gold glow pouring over the horizon and flowing along the street, and she squared her jaw and walked towards it, the heels of her boots tapping out a hollow rhythm as she went.

* * *

By the time she reached the diner, Ruby was up and dressed and eating pancakes, and Belle joined her, sending Granny a wobbly smile and receiving a shrewd frown in return.

"You were up early, young lady," she said severely, placing coffees in front of Belle and Ruby.

"I went to the cemetery," said Belle, and Granny's face softened.

"I should go later," she said. "I'll take some flowers, cheer the place up a little."

Belle nodded, although she doubted that there were enough flowers in the whole of Storybrooke to make the cemetery less cold and forbidding to her. Granny bustled away, and she busied herself with the pancakes, although she could barely taste them. Her nerves had started up again, tugging and clawing at her belly, and she almost gagged on her food before pushing her plate away. Ruby was watching her.

"You okay?" she asked, and Belle shrugged.

"Kind of want this week to be over," she said, in a tone that didn't invite further comment, and Ruby took the hint, letting her drink her coffee in silence.

* * *

Her day didn't improve. She was restless and irritable, nervous about what she had to do and running over and over potential conversation threads in her mind until she wanted to scream. It was after the final lesson before she could see him, though, and she made her way slowly up the stairs, shrinking away from the loud voices and exuberant gestures of students heading for the doors. Her heart was thumping high in her chest as she peered through his classroom door and watched him wiping down the whiteboards. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, orange light shining into the room and bathing it in gold. His shadow stretched towards her, its limbs tapering as he gathered up a pile of papers on the desk. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the door handle. It seemed to want to slip from her grasp, somehow warm and oily and unpleasant. She tightened her fingers, turning the handle and opening the door with a faint squeak of hinges.

Gold turned at the noise from the door, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he watched Belle sidle into the room. Almost at once, however, he could sense that something was wrong. She had been crying, or else she was about to start, her eyes reddened and overly large in her face.

"Hey," she said. "We - um - we need to talk."

Gold's smile faltered, and his fingers twisted nervously in the air before he stopped himself.

"Ah," he said heavily. "Well, that sounds ominous."

She didn't say anything, her jaw working a little, and he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close.

"Do you want to sit down?" he asked, gesturing at the nearest chair, but she shook her head.

The silence grew, thickening and spreading through the room, making him hunch his shoulders instinctively, as though invisible hands were pressing down on him, trying to force him to his knees.

"What is it, Belle?" he asked gently, and she started, as though she had forgotten he was there. A dawning realisation crept over him, and his guts twisted.

"Ms Mills informed me that you'll be back in my class this week," he said, trying to put off the inevitable questions that were clamouring at him. "I - I suppose that means that you and Carella won't be meeting anymore. I'm sorry."

"She's teaching me in the evenings, instead," said Belle, her eyes on the floor. "I'm not - I'm not doing so well, actually. I haven't been putting the work in."

"Ah." Perhaps that was it. Guilt over not studying. He should have expected that. "Well, I'm sure it's nothing that can't be remedied."

"Yeah." She was scuffing the floor with the toe of her boot, a nervous, staccato movement that was setting his teeth on edge. He wished she'd just say what was on her mind.

"Well, if it makes it easier, I can try not to speak to you in class," he offered. "Miss Lucas is a good student. I'd go so far as to say excellent, when she's not deliberately provoking me. There's no reason for us to have to interact any more than necessary, so you needn't worry on that score."

She was silent, and his fear grew, clawing at him and making him ridiculously verbose.

"I have the homework questions I set for the others, in my case," he added. "I can get you a copy and you can look them over tonight."

He reached for the battered leather case that sat on top of his desk, seeking to distract her, to help her, to do anything that would bring her comfort and ease his rising panic.

"Rum, wait," she said softly, and he stilled.

His senses were heightened by his anxiety, and for a brief moment he felt as though he was aware of everything. The faint sound of students in the grounds outside floating through the window, the scent of dust in the air and the warmth from the heating system. The way that Belle was bathed in the glow of the setting sun shining through the blinds, stripes of orange light lying across her perfect curves and turning her skin a delicate apricot hue. Red highlights gleamed in her hair and her eyes were wide and dark blue, heavy with sympathy. With regret.

"What did she tell you?" he asked quietly, and Belle's brow wrinkled.

"What?" she asked.

" _What did she tell you?"_ he hissed, his eyes flashing. "Carella! What was it?"

Belle chewed her lip.

"She - told me to be sure," she faltered. "To be sure of what I wanted. And she's right, Rum."

He let out a tiny, mirthless chuckle, letting his head roll back.

"Is she indeed?" he asked grimly. "Well, I suppose she is speaking from a place of experience. And I suppose that our situation is perfectly aligned with hers and not in the least bit different. And it's not as though we love one another, and..."

"I know we're not like _they_ were, but she's right to tell me to be sure," insisted Belle. "And - and _you_ were right, too. You said people wouldn't understand, that they'd judge you for what we've done. I know you said you could go back to teaching when I'm eighteen…"

"It's an option," he began, and she shook her head.

"But I know that's bullshit," she continued. "They'll never let you do that, none of them!"

He hesitated, glancing across at her, and bowed his head.

"No," he admitted. "No, they won't."

There was a moment of silence, a pause for breath, as he tried to snatch at the dark thoughts in his head, the whirling, screaming warnings that shrieked and clawed at him like evil spirits. Belle took a deep breath, shuddering a little as she sucked it in, her hands shaking.

"I know you tried to tell me before," she went on. "You tried to tell me that things wouldn't be easy, and I wouldn't listen. I've been too busy just trying to be with you in the here and now that I didn't stop to think if that was really what was best for _us_. _Both_ of us."

He bowed his head, concentrating on the pale tiles of the floor, the dark scuffs from leather shoes marring them, the brief gleam of light through the blinds. His mind was screaming at her not to do this, but he squeezed his lips tight, trying to keep everything inside where it could hurt only him. Trying to keep her safe.

"A month ago, I lost my father," she said, her voice low and filled with emotion. "I know we were together before that, and I'm not saying that things would be different if he were still alive, but he's not."

He turned away, leaning on the desk for support, his breathing coming hard as it felt as though his heart was being pulled from him.

"I - I need to grieve for Papa," she said. "I've been shutting it out, not dealing with it, but the pain is still there, and it's eating away at me! There's that, and my studies - I feel like I don't even know what I'm doing!"

Her voice was breaking, her tone pleading, as though she were desperate for him to help, to make it easier for her. He gathered what little strength he had.

"I understand," he breathed. "You don't need to say it, Belle. I understand."

"I just…" She broke off, and there was silence for a moment. "I just - need _time_ , Rum, that's all. I love you, believe me. I love you more than anything."

"Yes," he whispered, because it was all he could manage. He heard her move then, the shifting sound of her feet on the floor and the scrape of her shoes as she stepped towards him.

"This isn't goodbye," she said softly, and he nodded without looking at her.

There was silence for a moment, and he thought she was about to speak. He had pressed his lips together as tightly as he could, as though the tiniest crack could be a danger, as though it could become a gaping chasm down into the blackest depths of him from which his tortured soul could scream at her not to leave. Sadness hung heavy in the air between them, sadness and grief and guilt, and he was finding it hard to tell where his left off and hers began. But then he heard her move again, first one slow step, then another, and before he could look up, the door to the classroom had opened for her and closed behind her with a hollow, hopeless sound. She was gone, and it was as though the light had departed with her, leaving him cold and afraid and staring in terror at the gathering dark. She was gone.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm so sorry :(**


	28. Salvation

**A/N: I'd just like to say that although I will continue to update my current WIPs on , I am no longer publishing new fics on here, they are on AO3. Head on over and sign up if you want to read my fic about Belle deciding to hire an escort for her 18th birthday, who turns out to be her English teacher.**

 **Anyway, back to Penance. Well, poor Gold has been abandoned yet again, even though Belle has very good reasons for wanting to take some time. Enter Carella to 'help'**

* * *

Gold wasn't sure how he managed to make it home after Belle had left, but eventually he found himself mounting the steps of his porch with a heavy tread, and let himself inside the cool darkness of his hallway, locking the door behind him and shutting out the world. He felt empty, hollow, a tearing pain in his chest where his heart had been ripped from him to pulse its last in the scattered dust of his hopes. It was no more than he should have expected, of course. No more than he deserved.

He shrugged off his coat and hung it up, making his way to the lounge and immediately pouring himself a large whisky. He drank half of it just standing there, and refilled the glass before lighting a fire. Flames began to lick over the tinder, and he straightened up, letting his jacket slip from his shoulders and draping it over the arm of a chair. The waistcoat followed, then the tie, and he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, dropping into the chair and staring into the crackling flames as the fire took hold. He sipped at his whisky, wishing he'd brought the bottle closer so he didn't have to get up to pour another. Getting steaming drunk seemed like an excellent plan. At least then he wouldn't have to hear her voice in his head, telling him it wasn't goodbye, when he knew full well it was.

The tears that had been threatening to come since she had left his classroom stung his eyes, and he threw back the whisky with a shudder, blinking furiously and getting up to pour another. A sharp tapping at the door made his lip curl.

"Fuck off!" he muttered, but the tapping continued, and he put down his glass and made his way into the hall, growling under his breath. His mood did not improve when he saw the rippled, distorted picture of a blonde head and black-clad body through the glass of the front door.

"Rum, open this bloody door!" Carella's voice had a commanding tone. "I know you're in there, and I'm freezing my tits off out here!"

 _Fucking well stay there_ , he thought, but sighed and shuffled towards the door, turning the lock and opening it up.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snarled, and she looked him up and down.

"You're angry with me," she said knowingly. "I take it she broke up with you?"

He glared at her, staggering backwards as she pushed past him.

"I didn't say you could fucking come in!" he snapped, and she sniffed, shrugging off her fur coat.

"Tough. I can see what's happened, and if you think I'm leaving you alone to drink yourself into a stupor, you're even more of an idiot than I thought."

"Well, that's bloody rich!" He shut the door with rather more force than was necessary. "Considering what's happened is entirely your fucking fault!"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic!" she snapped, spinning to face him as she tossed the coat at the stairs. "I told her some hard truths, that was it! I told her to decide what she wanted, to be _sure_ of what she wanted. If that isn't you, don't you think it's better that you find out now, rather than two years down the line when you've ruined your career and your life over her?"

"When are you going to get it through your thick skull that not every bloody relationship is like the very worst of yours?" he demanded. "I remember you and Mal almost coming to blows a few years ago over your bloody meddling, and now you have to start in on me? I would have thought getting married would restore your faith in fucking humanity, but apparently not!"

Carella put her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing.

"Well _excuse me_ for being concerned about you!" she snapped.

"I don't _need_ your fucking concern!" he spat. "All I wanted from you was for you to keep your fucking nose out of my business! My life was fine until _you_ decided to poke around in it!"

"Oh, was it?" She cocked her hip, raising an eyebrow. "I must have completely made up the times I came over here to find you crying into your whisky! Have you forgotten that you managed to fuck up so badly you thought she'd never speak to you again? How on _earth_ could I ever have presumed you didn't know what you were doing!"

"Oh, we moved past that!" He waved an impatient hand. "I fucked up, I told her so! She was good enough to forgive me, and we moved on. And then _you_ shove your way in and screw it all up!"

"Well, if all it takes is a few words from me…" she began, and he rounded on her, furious.

"Don't you say that!" He wagged a finger at her. "Don't you even fucking _suggest_ that it wasn't real, d'you hear me?"

"I'm not saying that!" She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Good lord, Rum, don't you see? If your relationship can't stand up to a little external pressure, is it really everything you say?"

"My relationship is not a fucking social experiment!" he snapped. "Stop bloody interfering in things that don't concern you, and leave me to get on with my life!"

Carella folded her arms, tapping a foot as she glared at him.

"Your life is a bloody mess right now," she said bluntly. "Neither of you know what the hell you're doing. She just lost her father, she's still grieving, and as for you, you bloody idiot! You _still_ think you're not worthy of being the shit she scrapes from her shoes! _Both_ of you need time."

"That's not your decision to make!" His voice was getting louder, almost shouting, and his eyes flashed. "I'm perfectly capable of ordering my own life, thank you!"

"Right, yes, you're a bloody _genius_!" she said witheringly. "And here I was thinking you'd broken the law and every code of ethics possible and fucked one of your students."

"I LOVE HER!" he thundered, banging his fist against his chest. "She's the _one_ , don't you fucking understand? She's all I ever wanted, and we were _happy_! We were making something of our lives! We were planning a future together, and you _ruined_ it!"

Carella opened her mouth for an angry retort, but then her expression softened as his face twisted in pain. He turned away, waving a hand at her.

"Oh, Rum," she said sadly. "I never wanted you to be hurt, darling, please believe me."

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes again, and heard her step closer. He shrugged off her first, hesitant touch on his arm, but she was insistent, putting a hand to his shoulder and turning him back to face her before pulling him into an embrace. The whisky sloshed in his glass as he hugged her, the tears running over his cheeks, and he shuddered with the emotion, breathing in the comforting scent of perfume and cigarettes.

"Things will work out," she said gently, stroking his hair. "One way or another, believe me. Things will get better."

He didn't believe her, and he didn't quite trust himself to speak, so he said nothing. Her fingers running through his hair was comforting, calming him, grounding him.

"I always knew I'd drive her away," he said eventually, his voice muffled by her hair. "I never wanted that. I never wanted to be the thing that made her leave."

"It wasn't you," she said soothingly. "It was everything else, not you."

"You don't know that," he whispered. "It's always me. Always. Everyone leaves, in the end."

She pulled back a little, putting her head to the side as she looked him over.

"I'm still here," she reminded him, and he snorted.

"Well, lucky me," he said sarcastically, and she shoved him.

"Let's go into the lounge," she said. "I need a bloody drink, and you are being the _worst_ host imaginable."

Snorting again, with a mix of sorrow and amusement, he gestured with the whisky glass and followed her through to the lounge. Once inside, he threw himself onto the couch, the whisky sloshing over his thumb, and Carella poured herself a drink and sat down next to him, kicking off her shoes and pointing her slender feet. He slumped against her, and she threw an arm around him.

"Still angry with me?" she asked.

"Yes," he muttered, but without any heat, and she sighed.

"Tell me what she said," she asked wearily, and he scowled, swirling the whisky in his glass.

"She says she needs _time_ ," he said, trying not to sound bitter.

"Well, I expect that's true," she said. "The poor girl's had her entire world turned upside down in the space of a few months, what do you expect?"

Gold pulled a face, her words needling him. She was right, of course.

"I suppose," he said, and hesitated. "I know - I know you thought you were doing the right thing."

He took a drink, staring moodily into the fire, and Carella sighed.

"After all these years, you finally find someone to give your heart to," she said patiently. "Do you not think I'd welcome that? Do you not think I'd want it to work?"

He sent her a baleful glare, but she frowned at him until he rolled his eyes and shrugged, relenting.

"Yes," he sighed, letting his head roll back against the cushions, and she nodded.

"Well, it _won't_ bloody work if she doesn't deal with her grief, you idiot!" she said sharply.

He was silent for a moment, draining his glass, and she finished her own drink, standing up to pour them another. Gold took his whisky from her, nodding his thanks as she settled down onto the couch with a sigh.

"I want her to be happy," he said softly, and she rolled her eyes.

"I _know_ you do," she said patiently. "But if she doesn't take the time to process what's happened to her, you'll only be setting yourselves up for pain and trauma down the line, believe me."

Gold pulled a face, staring into the tawny depths of his whisky.

"Perhaps," he acknowledged, and she snorted.

"Is that you admitting I'm right? Begrudging, but I'll take it. Best decision you made all bloody year, probably."

"You're a heartless bitch," he muttered, not meaning it.

"You're a miserable old bastard," she said affectionately. "Aren't we an amazing pair?"

He gave her a wry look, sipping his whisky, and they drank in silence for a moment.

"Will you still leave the school?" she asked then, and he hesitated before nodding.

"Yes," he said. "Whatever happens, however things turn out. I think I need a break, get my head together."

"You know Daddy would give you a job in five seconds flat if you ever asked," she said. "He's been desperate to lure you back for ages."

"I know." He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "When I said a break, I meant it, though."

"I think you'll go mad if you just stop working," she said. "Madder than you already are, of course."

He grumbled something under his breath, letting his head fall onto her shoulder.

"Are you staying?" he asked, and she kissed the top of his head.

"Of course I'm staying, you idiot. I'll call Ursula. She can cope with one night alone."

"Thank you," he said quietly, and she sniffed.

"We're not singing karaoke again," she warned, and he chuckled.

"Agreed."

* * *

Belle found their separation hard, just as she had known she would. She spent her days buried in schoolwork, trying to catch up on what she had missed. The S.A.T.s took a lot of her energy and were an excellent distraction, and when she slept she was too tired to dream. She was also crying regularly, weeping in the night when she thought of her father and remembered the times they had shared. The songs he had sung while working in the shop, silly little dances he had done with buckets of flowers in each hand, sometimes catching her up and spinning her around until she was breathless with giggles. Quiet evenings at home playing cards at the kitchen table, Moe complaining loudly whenever she beat him. The crushing hugs that stole her breath and dug her earrings into the sides of her head. The memories were bittersweet, but she could feel some of the weight leaving her soul with every night of shaking sobs, the dark heaviness of her grief beginning to lift.

It was difficult to be in class with Gold and not speak to him, but he was good to her, not seeking out any interaction, treating her with calm indifference. She had thought it would hurt, but in a way it made things easier, and she was grateful. But God, how she missed him! It had been the right decision, though; she could feel herself healing, mending, growing stronger as she faced all the grief and guilt she had been bottling up for so long. It was comforting to her to realise that her love for him had not diminished, that she still wanted him. She only hoped that at the end of it all, his feelings for her would not have changed.

* * *

Time passed, and the days grew longer as the snow melted and the bitter winds eased. January became February, February became March, and soon it was early May and the days became humid and the forests filled with green and light and life. Gold spent his days at school, his nights trying to sleep, and his weekends at the cabin, reading. It had been impossible to put Belle from his mind, of course, when she had class with him, but he had tried to make it easy on her. And on himself, if he was honest. He didn't speak to her any more than necessary, and limited his interactions with her to asking and answering questions. She continued to complete her work to a good standard, and therefore there was no reason for the two of them to have anything to do with one another.

It didn't help, of course, but he couldn't stop himself from watching her as she entered and left his classroom. The tiny, tremulous smile she would give him before dropping her eyes, and the way she moved as she went to take her seat. The way she would chew nervously at the pink plumpness of her lower lip as he taught the class, and the nervous shuffle of her feet beneath the table. He tried not to think about the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair, the taste of her. How she had moved in his arms, on top of him, beneath him. How he had kissed her. How much he loved her.

In the early days following their separation, she had been pale and drawn, but he knew that he himself looked like a fucking mess, so he wasn't surprised. She seemed better now, though. Healthier. He hoped she was healing. He hoped she was happy. She had gotten excellent results in the S.A.T.s, he had heard. No doubt she would be leaving next year, leaving Storybrooke for college in a far-off city and taking some of the light from the town, and from his life, as she went.

On a late Saturday morning in May, Gold walked out onto the back porch of the cabin, clad in the loose cotton pants he had slept in, and a linen shirt. He had made a pot of coffee, and set it down on the small table looking out over the lake. The sun was well and truly up, the air not yet having the heavy humidity that would come later. Insects buzzed and whined over the surface of the lake, its silvered surface rippling as fish ate the growing larvae. The trees ringing the lake were green and lush with leaves, reeds providing cover at the water's edge, and Gold took a deep breath of the clean air as he lowered himself into a chair and picked up the book he had been reading. The coffee smelt rich and nutty, and he wished he'd brought something to eat with it. He had largely stopped drinking except for the odd whisky now and then, and his appetite had returned after weeks of intermittent eating and too much caffeine. He thought he could do with putting on a few pounds, so perhaps he'd drive into town later, treat himself to some pastries from the bakery.

He thumbed through the pages of the book to find the place he had left off, fingers splaying the sides of it as he settled back to read, fragrant steam rising from the narrow spout of the coffee pot. Birds chirped and squawked in the trees around him, and he heaved a deep breath, inhaling the clean, calming air. There was a strange tension in his body that he couldn't seem to shake, a low, electric thrum of inexplicable anticipation. It had woken him early, and he had lain with his arms behind his head, listening to the forest come to life around him as the sensation made his stomach tighten and his heart thump. He had wondered if a storm was coming, but the weather didn't suggest it, the tension seeming to emanate from within him. He had showered in an attempt to shake off the tightness in his skin, but there was still something there, a heavy closeness that wanted to steal his breath.

He poured the coffee, a dark stream of bitter liquid filling his cup, and took a brief sip before setting it down to concentrate on his book. A fly buzzed near his face, and he batted it away impatiently, turning the page and running his finger briefly over his upper lip as he tried to take in the words. There was a quiet rustle in the bushes on the other side of the lake, the sharp squawk of a bird that had been disturbed, and something made him look up.

Appearing through the trees at the edge of the lake, picking her way delicately through the leaf litter, a female white-tailed deer approached the water. She was full-grown, but young. One of last year's fawns, he suspected. Her flanks were sleek and reddish brown, her throat pale, her eyes large and dark, and he felt his heart thump, remaining perfectly still as she cast a watchful eye around the lake before bending her head to drink. He wondered if it was the same doe that he had seen before, and a part of him liked to believe that it was, that the one he had killed on that fateful night had no connection to the cabin, to the times he had spent here. To Belle. He watched as she drank, her ears flicking away the tiny insects that buzzed around her, eyes watching for any threat. His pulse seemed very loud, throbbing in his throat as silvery droplets ran from the end of her snout, and he tried to stay as still as possible. The sound of a nearby car seemed unnaturally loud, the purr of the engine breaking through the tranquility of the forest, and he frowned at whoever was driving on the dirt roads around the cabin. The doe looked up sharply, wet black eyes fixing on him for a moment as her ears flicked, and then she was gone in a flash of chestnut and white and a rustle of leaves.

Gold sat back, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, a tiny smile curling the corners of his mouth. The noise of the engine grew louder, and he wrinkled his brow, putting his book down on the table and pushing himself to his feet with his cane. Travellers were rare on the back roads by the cabin, but not unheard of, and it was possible that whoever it is had seen the cabin and wished to ask for directions. He made his way back inside, walking through the cool darkness of the main living space to where the front door was. Something made him pause, his fingers dancing across the handle of his cane in a nervous rhythm, one foot tapping along with it. There was the sound of a car door slamming, then the engine roared to life again, and the noise faded as the car drove off back up the track. He stayed, watching the door, a narrow band of light beneath the dark wood, the tension that had been with him all day crawling under his skin and needling his flesh. It was almost a relief when there was a soft knock at the door, and he took a step towards it, then another, reaching for the latch with shaking fingers.

The door swung open, the late spring sun almost blinding after the darkness of the cabin, and for a moment he could see nothing but a blur of cream and yellow, surrounded by a halo of light.

"Hey," said a familiar voice, and he squinted, the colours swimming into focus and taking the shape of a human form, the light that surrounded it fading a little, and his mouth fell open.

"Belle," he breathed.

She sent him a tremulous smile, and for a moment all he could do was stare, as though to look away would break the spell, make her disappear. She was wearing a yellow dress with a flared skirt, a narrow blue belt at her waist. Long, pale legs were above yellow high-heeled shoes, and her dark hair was pinned up on top of her head, already starting to work its way loose and curl down to brush her cheeks and the nape of her neck. She blinked at him, dark lashes fluttering, and nervously caught her lower lip between her teeth, the deep pink curve of flesh popping back out again, moistened by the tip of her tongue. She was - breathtaking.

"Is it okay if - um - may I come in?" she asked then, and he started.

"Sorry, I…"

His words stuck in his throat, his tongue tripping over itself in his eagerness to speak with her. Belle sent him a curious expression, and he dropped his eyes.

"Of course," He stepped back, gesturing to the room like a bloody idiot. "Please."

She stepped inside, and he was glad to close the door, even if it it meant that his eyes had to adjust again. He watched her walk slowly around the cabin, sedate and graceful as a swan, dropping one of those over-sized handbags that seemed to be all the rage onto the couch as she passed it. A single circuit, head turning this way and that as though she sought to familiarise herself with the place again, and then she swivelled on her toes to face him, inclining her head slightly.

"I should have called first," she said apologetically.

He wanted to say something, but his brain appeared to have temporarily shut down. She was stunningly beautiful, her skin almost luminous, dark hair shining in the sunlight that filtered through the thin curtains. She had put a little weight on, too, and her eyes had lost the shadows that had haunted her for so many months. He hoped she was happy. He wanted to ask, but it felt as though his tongue had swollen to twice its normal size, and he tried to unstick it from the roof of his mouth as she waited in vain for a response.

"Ruby said - we were talking last night, and she said I should come," she added. "I didn't think to call this morning, we just got in the car. I wasn't even sure that you'd be here, but then we saw your car, and - well - I should have called."

She lifted one shoulder and let it drop, looking unsure of herself.

 _Say something you fucking idiot!_ His mind screaming at him didn't help, but he managed to open his mouth, which was a start.

"'S'okay," he muttered. _Oh, fucking wonderful! Moron!_

Belle's smile was brief and uncertain, but she managed a short, awkward laugh.

"I - I think that's the most informal I've ever seen you," she said, gesturing at his bare feet and cotton pants.

"What? Oh…" He looked down at himself, running a nervous hand through his hair. "I - um - wasn't expecting company."

"No, I like it!" she assured him. "I'm sorry, it's my fault, I - I - should have - called…" She trailed off lamely, looking embarrassed at repeating herself, and looked at the floor, shifting her feet slightly. He tried to make things easier on her.

"How are you?" he asked, having gotten control of his ability to speak, and Belle looked relieved that he was initiating conversation, however inane.

"Good!" she said eagerly. "I'm really good! I mean, not one hundred percent or anything, it's still - it's still hard to think about Papa sometimes, but I'm good. Better."

"I'm glad."

He was. It was a weight off his mind, and his smile was genuine, causing her to smile back. There was silence for a moment. She seemed to be waiting for something, but he didn't know what to say to her. Birdsong filtered through the window as they stood within an arm's length of one another, neither one seemingly able to come out with anything meaningful.

"I could - make some tea," he offered. "If - if you're staying awhile."

He cast a glance at the bag on the couch, and she followed his gaze, meeting his eyes as he turned back to her.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes wide and impossibly blue.

He swallowed, nodding, and took a step towards the kitchenette, but she grasped for his hand, staying him.

"Rum," she said softly. "I didn't mean yes to the tea."

Her touch was warm, her skin soft, and he was afraid to grip her hand in case she pulled away. His heart rate had increased, his nervousness causing tiny beads of sweat to form on his upper lip, and his legs seemed to be made of iron as she pulled gently at his hand, turning him back towards her.

"I know that leaving hurt you," she said. "You were so good about it, so understanding, but I know I hurt you. I didn't want to, I swear, but - but I had to do it, don't you see? I had to."

He couldn't speak. He knew why she had had to do it, of course, but he couldn't seem to speak, to tell her so, to reassure her. Her fingers tightened on his hand, her touch burning him.

"I missed you," she said awkwardly. "So much. I almost drove Ruby insane. And I almost came over, so many times. I made her promise to stop me if I did, because I knew - I knew I had to be strong. To face things on my own."

"Yes," he said quietly, unsure what he was acknowledging. He wanted to tell her he had missed her too, but he thought he might lose any remaining shreds of self-control he had, break down and cry on her shoulder.

"I want to stay," she said, her cheeks a little pink, her chest heaving. "If you let me, I mean."

He swallowed again, his mouth dry, uncertain what she was saying.

"You mean today?" he asked, and she raised her chin.

"Tonight," she said. "Forever, if you still want me."

His mouth dropped open, and all he could do was stare at her and let the words sink into him, the words he'd dreamed of so many times before waking to cold, lonely disappointment and heartbreak. Perhaps he was dreaming again.

"I said it wasn't goodbye," she said, and shook her head with a rueful smile. "But you didn't believe me, did you?"

She released his hand, put her palm flat against his chest, over his heart. He wondered if she could feel it thumping.

"Everyone leaves," he whispered, and she shook her head.

"I needed _time_ , that's all," she said gently. "I needed to be _sure_."

Her touch sent shivers through him as she reached up to cup his face, her fingers brushing his hair back. His breath shuddered in his chest as she stepped closer, mere inches from him.

"I _am_ sure," she whispered. "I love you."

Hesitantly, he reached out, praying that she wouldn't turn to dust, to smoke, to the tattered remnants of a dream he tried to grasp upon waking. Her cheek was warm and smooth, the curve of her lower lip as soft as silk, and she smiled at him, one hand covering his and pressing it to her.

"Do you still love me?"

Her breath was warm, her perfume drifting into his nose, and he stepped closer, dropping his cane so that he could touch her with both hands, his lower lip wobbling as he tried not to cry. She loved him. She was really there, and she loved him.

"Oh, Belle!" he breathed. "Oh, yes, I love you!"

She leaned into his touch, her eyes bright with tears, and he bent his head to kiss her, moaning as her mouth opened for him and he tasted her once more. Her fingers sank into his hair, pulling him closer, and his tongue pushed inside her, touching hers, stroking and sliding. Her hands slipped lower, moving over his chest, his belly, his back, and she pulled her lips free, breathing hard, her forehead pressed to his.

"I missed you," she whispered. "I missed you so much!"

He kissed her again, loving the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms, and she pressed herself against him, her hands sliding up his back, beneath the shirt he wore. He broke the kiss, staring down at her in wonder, and she sent him a nervous smile.

"Take me to bed, Rum," she said softly. "Please, my love."

He was barely able to breathe, let alone speak, and so he took a step back, out of her arms, and took her hand, limping slowly to the bedroom and pulling her with him. The curtains were open, a stripe of sunlight falling across the bed, and she shook her head as he moved to close them.

"I want to see you," she said.

She pulled him back towards her, fingers reaching for the buttons of his shirt and pulling them open. Her hands slipped inside, a sigh escaping her as her palms slid against warm skin, and he carefully pulled the pins from her hair and let her dark curls tumble free. The zipper of the dress was next, then the narrow belt, and the dress itself fell to the floor at her feet. Belle stepped out of the high yellow shoes, smiling up at him in white lace underwear, her skin warm and creamy in the sunlight. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, grasping the drawstring of his cotton pants and pulling him closer as she tugged the loose bow undone, her fingers trembling, her movements quick, frantic, desperate, pushing the pants down over his hips and leaving him naked. He reached around her back, unhooking the bra and pushing the straps from her shoulders, his hands moving to cup her breasts as he kissed her again, and Belle moaned into his mouth, sending a pulse of longing through him.

"Bed," she whispered into his mouth, and grasped his hands.

She pulled him with her, falling backwards and bouncing slightly on the bed before he landed on her, his breath whooshing from his lungs. Belle kissed him, her mouth sweet and hot and wet, her fingers pushing through his hair as her tongue slipped into his mouth, and he ran his hands over her curves, his lips slippery with their saliva. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he gazed down at her.

"I missed you so much, Belle," he said softly. "So much, my love."

He kissed her again, and her hands trailed across his naked shoulders, her nails a sharp, pleasant pain, reminding him that she was real, that he wasn't hallucinating. Pulling his mouth from hers, he kissed his way down her pale skin of her throat, her body arching into him and a moan coming from deep within her as he sucked at her nipple, his hands cupping her, teasing her. Her nails scraped his scalp, sending shivers through his body, and he kissed across to her other breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple, leaving it hard and wet and glistening.

She was still wearing the white lace panties, and he pushed them down over her hips, growling in pleasure as he saw that she had waxed, the skin beneath a dusky pink and smooth as silk. That was something new, and he longed to feel her, to taste her. He could already smell her arousal, that familiar scent that made him want to plunge into her, to keep her with him, to make her his for all time. He was hard, aching to be inside her, the tip of his cock already wet with fluid, and he tugged the panties off at her feet, kissing his way upwards from the inside of her right knee. He groaned at the first taste of her, his tongue sweeping through her folds and making her let out a cry of pleasure, and his tongue circled her clit, dipping inside her, swirling around the soft petals of her flesh. Her hands tightened in his hair, and a part of him wanted to make her come, to hear her cry, to taste the sweetness of her on his tongue. It didn't feel right though, for their first time back together. He wanted to see her when she came, to be deep inside her, to feel her clench around him.

He pressed a kiss to her, and began making his way back up her body, trailing his lips across warm skin. She was tugging at him, trying to pull him up faster, and he was grinning by the time he took himself in hand and pressed up against the wet heat of her. Her eyes were dark with desire, her cheeks flushed, and she nodded fiercely as he raised an eyebrow. Slowly, he pushed his way inside her, the feel of her slick and hot, and he threw his head back with a groan as he sank up to the hilt, Belle lifting her knees to let him fill her.

" _Fuck!"_ he gasped, and she giggled, lifting her head up off the pillows to capture his lips with hers.

He kissed her deeply, his hands stroking her hair back from her face, loving the feel of her. Being inside her again was incredible, and he tried to take it slow, to draw it out, to ensure her pleasure before he took his own. He began to move, to thrust, his hips circling and grinding against her, and she moaned in pleasure, her tongue slipping into his mouth to stroke his. Their lips pulled apart, the kiss breaking, and he ran his tongue across the line of her jaw to her ear, teeth nipping at the lobe and making her let out a cry of pleasure. His lips trailed down her throat, his tongue sweeping over her pulse and feeling the beat of her heart. There was salt on her skin, fresh perspiration forming with the heat of their passion, and he sank his teeth into her, groaning with desire as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

The sunlight coming through the window was hot on his back, her hands cool in comparison, the light brush of her fingers making him shiver, and she arched her body into his with a cry as he swept his tongue up her throat. She was moving against him, hips rocking, hands stroking through his hair, moaning as he thrust inside her, and the feel of her, the scent of her, the taste of her, were almost enough to make him weep. He could feel her body tensing, her climax approaching, and he wanted to join her, to let his pleasure match hers. He quickened his pace a little, a deep ache in his balls, and her moans grew louder until she threw her head back with a loud cry, clenching around him as she came. The feel of it took him with her, a loud groan of pleasure pulled from his lungs as he spurted deep inside her. Belle raked her fingers through his hair, peppering his face with kisses as he continued to move in tiny, quick thrusts, emptying himself into her until he was drained and ragged and spent.

Head dropping, he tried to catch his breath, his chest heaving, their skin slick with sweat. The rhythmic trail of her fingertips was soothing. He pushed himself up on his elbows to look down at her, and she kissed his nose and settled back into the pillows with a contented sigh. Her hair was tousled, her lips full and red and her cheeks flushed, the skin of her face and neck pink where his stubble had scraped her, and he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. She was gazing up at him with a tiny smile on her face, and reached up to push his hair back, her hand cupping his cheek.

"I love you," she whispered, and he smiled, tears pricking his eyes.

"I love you, too," he said softly, and kissed her. She nuzzled him with her nose.

"Can I stay tonight?" she asked then.

"Of course."

He slipped out of her, rolling onto his back and pulling her close, and she slid an arm across his belly, pillowing her head on his chest.

"What lie have you told Mrs Lucas?" he asked, and Belle giggled.

"Shopping, followed by sleepover at Emma's place," she said. "That _is_ actually what Ruby's gonna do, she'll just tell Emma I'm sick."

He smiled, truly happy for the first time in months.

"The whole day and night together," he remarked. "We should make the most of it."

"Oh, I intend to," she said, with a throaty laugh. "I hope you brought plenty of food, you're gonna need the energy."

He gave her a sidelong look. She was grinning at him, her eyes sparkling.

"Actually no," he said. "I was thinking of going to get some pastries or something."

"Good idea." Her tongue darted out, sweeping across his nipple and making him jump. "But not yet."

Rolling, he pinned her beneath him and began kissing her again. Not yet.

* * *

 **A/N: I couldn't keep them apart too long, poor things!**


	29. Contentment

They spent another hour in bed, kissing and touching. Reconnecting. Belle sighed in contentment as he kissed his way up her body and along her jaw, her fingers stroking up the hot skin of his back, dappled sunlight still falling across them through the window. It felt so good to be in his arms again, so good to lie with him without the constant weight of the grief she had been carrying when they had last been together. Gold pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at her, a sleepy blissfulness softening his features.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, and she nodded.

"A little. Did you mention pastries?"

"I can see what the diner has to offer," he suggested, and she beamed at him.

"I guess I should stay here," she said, and he nodded, pushing himself up out of bed and hunting for his clothes.

"I don't think Storybrooke is quite ready for us to walk arm-in-arm into Granny's," he said dryly.

"Storybrooke can bite me," she said grumpily, and he grinned up at her.

"I'd rather like to do that myself," he said, and she wriggled with pleasure, sitting up in the bed to watch as he dressed.

He pulled a fresh pair of pants over his hips, glancing over his shoulder at her as he shrugged on the linen shirt he had been wearing.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"As long as we have enough food for later, I'm good."

"I'll see what I can find," he said, grinning at her.

Going out of the bedroom, he tugged on shoes, snatched up his keys and sunglasses, and called goodbye as he left. The sun was hot, the air clean and fresh in his lungs, and he was well aware that he had the widest, stupidest grin on his face as he walked to the car. She had come back. She loved him, and she had come back.

* * *

The town was fairly busy when he parked up outside Granny's, the residents enjoying the summer sun, dogs panting in the shade cast by trees and porches. He decided to do a little grocery shopping first, and picked out strawberries, some cheeses and salad, fresh bread and a small box of chocolates. After a moment of deliberation he added a bottle of champagne. He was definitely in the mood to celebrate. Regina swept into the store just as his purchases were being scanned, and she lifted an eyebrow, an amused smirk on her face.

"Special evening planned, Mr Gold?" she asked, and he returned her wry smile.

"Yes, as it happens," he said, and her amusement seemed to grow.

"Don't tell me you have a date," she said. "Did one of those online dating algorithms finally pair you with a human female? They must be upping their game."

Gold showed his teeth.

"Well, I find it helps if you blatantly lie when it comes to the questions about your personality traits," he said. "You may want to bear that in mind in future. What about your plans? Microwave meal for one and a side order of bitter regret?"

The cashier was pretending not to hear their conversation, and Gold glanced at the total and dug in his pocket for his wallet. Regina was still smirking at him.

"I'll miss our little battles, Mr Gold," she said. "Are you certain that a sabbatical is what you want? It's not too late to change your mind."

"Ah." He put the last of his purchases in a paper bag, a twisted smile on his face as he turned back to her. "You haven't found a replacement?"

She dropped the fake antagonism and pulled a face, heaving a sigh as she tossed her dark hair.

"There's time," she admitted. "Not much, though. You sure I can't persuade you to come back?"

Gold hefted his bag of food in one arm, his other hand gripping the handle of his cane.

"Oh, I highly doubt you'll want me back after the summer, Ms Mills," he said, still grinning, and nodded to her as he left the store.

* * *

He stowed his purchases on the back seat of the Cadillac, making his way into the diner to buy something sweet for he and Belle to have with their coffee. The diner was fairly busy, Ashley running between tables with a tray piled with dishes, and Granny taking orders in her usual brisk fashion. He ordered two cinnamon Danish and two banana and pecan muffins, and Granny looked him over shrewdly as she placed the cakes in paper bags. She said nothing, however, and he made his way back to the cabin at a leisurely pace, enjoying the late spring light filtering through the trees on the forest roads.

Gold pulled up outside the cabin, sitting for a moment as the engine ticked over and he looked over the place with a smile. She was there, waiting for him. The one. He got out, using his cane to push himself upright and opening the door to retrieve the bag of food. Birds chirped and squawked in the undergrowth as he mounted the cabin steps, the buzz of insects a faint irritation around him, and then he opened the door and let himself in to the cool, dim calmness of the cabin.

Belle looked around with a start, dropping a mug on the counter of the kitchenette before her grasping fingers latched onto it again. She was wearing one of his shirts, pale blue linen which looked good against her skin, and he smiled at her, his heart swelling with love.

"Sorry if I startled you," he said.

"Oh! No, no, I was just making coffee." She busied herself with the mugs, pouring water into the coffee pot and exclaiming over the food as he put the bag on the counter.

"Oh yum, you brought Danish!"

He grinned at her. "I thought you might like them."

Belle smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling, and he felt as though he was going to burst with happiness.

"I'll put the other things away," she said. "Why don't you take a seat out on the porch, I'll bring everything through."

He could have protested, but frankly it was adorable to see her treating the cabin as though it was her own, and so he picked up the paper bags containing the pastries and muffins and took them through the cabin and out onto the back porch. Setting the bags down on the small table, he took a seat, leaning back with a contented sigh and looking out over the lake. Perhaps they would spend all their weekends here: lazy summer days drinking iced tea and reading quietly on the porch, sheltered from the heat of the sun, the surface of the lake rippling as fish and frogs ate the insect larvae. Crisp autumn days, walking in the woods, kicking up the russet leaves and breathing in the clean air that smelt of pine resin and dark, moist earth. Cold winter days wrapped in blankets drinking cocoa, the woods silent and dark in their thick mantle of white, frost on bare twigs sparkling in the weak sun. Winter nights spent making love by the crackling fire. He wanted that life with her. A simple life, a life filled with love. She would need to go to college, of course. Get her own career, fulfil her dreams, but later, perhaps they would come here. When there was time to take a breath, when there was time to be still, perhaps they could have this.

A squeak from the door made him look around, and Belle walked out onto the porch with steaming mugs of coffee, smiling as she set them down on the table. She slid into the seat on the other side of the small table and curled her feet beneath her, and Gold tore open the paper bags, picking up one of the cinnamon pastries.

"I thought we should talk," he began. "Make plans. If - if you're willing."

She smiled at him, nodding happily, and he wanted to kiss her again.

"I'd love to," she said.

"Alright."

He took a bite of the Danish, sugar melting on his tongue and the warm, earthy taste of cinnamon making his mouth water. Belle nibbled on her own pastry, watching him, and he licked crumbs from his fingertips.

"We have a few weeks of school left," he said. "I'm still leaving, so you'll have a new teacher next year."

"What will you do?" she asked, and he pulled a face.

"I haven't decided yet," he admitted. "I think it largely depends on what you decide you want to do. Have you thought about college?"

Belle nodded, tearing off a strip of flaking pastry and popping it into her mouth.

"I've been looking at undergrad programs," she said. "I want an English major, definitely. Maybe throw in a little History or something on the side."

Gold took a sip of coffee. "And the school?"

"Not sure yet." Belle pulled a face. "I'd like to stay in the northeast, though, I think. I'll be making applications when school starts up again. Maybe - maybe Columbia, or Pennsylvania. Or even Boston."

"All good schools," he nodded. "And I meant what I said. Cost isn't a problem."

"Actually it turns out that a lot of universities will be happy to help out a poor orphan," she said wryly. "I could probably do it without your money."

"The offer still stands," he said. "But the decision is yours."

Belle sat forward, reaching out to squeeze his hand with pale fingers, her touch warm.

"That wasn't me throwing your generosity back in your face, by the way," she said gently. "I really do appreciate any help you can give me."

He smiled, inclining his head. "Well, as I said. Choose your school, and so it will be."

"Thank you." She tore another piece of the pastry and chewed it, licking sugar from her fingertips. "I think Columbia will be my first choice. I like the look of their curriculum."

"New York." He nodded slowly. "Well, that would make things easier. I could work for Carella's father again, if necessary."

"You wouldn't teach?" asked Belle. "There must be schools in New York that you'd like to work in."

Gold set down his cup with a grimace.

"That - may not be possible," he admitted.

"Because of me?" Belle rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on! They're not going to ask about your private life, are they?"

"These things have a way of coming out," he said.

"We've been okay so far."

"We've been sneaking around," he pointed out. "If we go to New York, we'd be together. Properly."

She grinned, and as the thought of living with her, of waking up beside her every morning, flitted through his mind, he couldn't help grinning back.

"People will talk, that's all I'm saying," he said. "You need to be prepared for that."

"I'll be eighteen," she said patiently. "They can talk all they like, there's nothing they can do."

"Perhaps."

Belle sat back, taking a large bite of her pastry and scattering crumbs on her shirt, which she brushed off impatiently.

"I've had time to think about all that," she said. "And I've decided that people can say what they like. I don't care. The only thing I care about is that they don't shut you out."

He shrugged, sipping at his coffee. "I think that may be too much to ask, but we'll see."

"Carella and Jefferson know," she pointed out. "And Ruby. They're okay with it. I think you worry too much."

"Well, I'm unlikely ever to stop doing that," he said, rolling his eyes, and she giggled.

"I know. I should probably kiss you whenever you get like that. Your brain doesn't work when I kiss you."

He gave her a very level look, which only made her laugh harder, and took another sip of coffee, deciding not to push anything. They had plenty of time to plan what they would do and where they would live, after all. Belle ate the last of her Danish, picking up the crumbs scattered across the crumpled brown paper with stabs of her forefinger before putting it in her mouth.

"What about now?" she asked, and he set down his mug.

"Now?"

"After school ends for the summer," she explained. "What next - what next for you and me?"

Gold didn't answer for a moment. He pulled apart one of the muffins with his thumbs, the rich dark cake moist and light in his hands.

"Well, that's really your decision," he said. "You still have another year of school. You won't turn eighteen until December. You may think it best if you stayed with Mrs Lucas until you leave school."

"I could come to you as soon as you leave the school, you know," she said, and he sat back with a sigh.

"You could," he admitted. "But it may be better to wait."

"Another year of sneaking around?" she said dryly. "I'm not sure I could stand it."

"We'd still have days like this," he said, with a tiny smile. "A year isn't so long."

Belle sighed, and took a mouthful of coffee, watching him over the rim of her mug. She set the coffee down firmly, as though she had made a decision.

"Until I'm eighteen, then," she said. "A compromise. And I'll have to tell Granny. She's been so good to me, she deserves to know."

Gold wondered exactly how far he would have to run before Granny would stop hunting him down, but she was right. If it was going to come out, and it would, best the story came from her.

"Very well," he said. "December?"

Belle wrinkled her nose.

"I was thinking January," she said. "New Year."

"Until January, then," he nodded. "We take our moments as we can for now."

"I plan on going on a lot of long runs over the summer, if it helps," she added, and he smiled.

"Well, it's not as though I have lesson-planning," he quipped, and she grinned.

"New Year, then," she said happily, and Gold nodded.

"New Year," he repeated. "You'll come to me then?"

Belle's eyes sparkled in the light, her face filled with love.

"I'll come to you," she whispered.

* * *

They spent the day in peaceful lethargy, curled on the porch chairs reading, the odd brush of fingertips, a stroke of hair as they passed one another to fetch tea. In the afternoon they walked in the woods, their pace slow and relaxed, Gold's cane digging into the mulch, their arms linked as they made a wide circuit of the lake. Belle had worried that they might meet other walkers, people they knew, but the woods were deserted, and they made their way back to the cabin in comfortable silence.

"Hungry?" he asked, and she nodded.

He made a dressing for the salad with oil and vinegar, slicing bread and putting the different cheeses on a plate, and they ate their fill on the back porch as the sun gradually sank down behind the trees, the light turning a rich gold as the shadows lengthened. Belle sighed happily, setting down her piece of bread and cheese and letting her head roll back against the wooden wall of the cabin.

"I love this," she said quietly. "Being with you, just sitting here. I love it."

"Yes." He reached out, threading his fingers through hers, and she squeezed his hand.

"If we do move to New York, or something," she said. "Will you keep the house? And the cabin?"

He turned towards her, deep brown eyes gleaming with gold flecks in the light of the setting sun.

"Would you come back?" he asked. "In a few years' time, I mean. Would you live here again?"

"Maybe." She turned to her side a little, facing him. "There are a lot of sad memories here, but I'd like to make new, happy ones. Maybe I'll become a teacher too, and we could both work at the school."

Gold smiled wickedly.

"Imagine the scandal," he said, and she giggled.

"The only scandal would be me groping you in the library or something," she teased, and he winked at her.

"I'd be surprisingly okay with that," he said.

* * *

The sun had set, the darkness of the forest broken only by the candles that Gold lit, and eventually they made their way back inside.

"I should text Ruby," said Belle. "She wanted me to check in at some point."

"Out the front," he suggested, and she nodded, remembering the poor signal the cabin received.

As she had suspected, there were a few messages from Ruby enquiring after her, and Belle smiled as she read them over.

OK so its six, and I heard nothing from u, so Im guessing ur way too busy having all the sex.

Just FYI u dont need to tell me about the sex

But txt me back anyway hon

BTW u owe me, Emma wanted to come and visit poor sick Belle and I lied my face off to her. So tomorrow try to look like u spent the night puking not screwing, OK?

Grin widening, Belle hurriedly texted back.

I'm so, so happy! We talked. Made plans. And no, we didn't have all the sex. Just some of it. Gonna have more later.

Ruby's response came almost immediately.

Ew I told u not not to tell me!

JK I want all the disgusting perverse details tomorrow ok?

Lol cant wait to see the smug look on Gold's face on Monday ;-)

Im still ur date for prom tho right?

Chicks before dicks!

Belle snorted in amusement.

We're still going to prom together, she confirmed. Love you xx

Still grinning, she went back in the cabin, closing and locking the front door behind her. Gold was tearing the foil from the neck of the champagne bottle, and she beamed at him as she picked up the punnet of strawberries and the box of chocolates he had bought.

"I'll just take these through to the bedroom," she announced, and a smile spread across his face.

"Are you plotting something, Miss French?" he asked.

Belle raised her chin.

"You have too many clothes on," she said firmly. "We should really do something about that."

She heard his soft chuckle as she padded through to the bedroom, and she curled up on the bed, the strawberries and chocolates set beside her on the coverlet. He carried the champagne and two wine glasses through, setting them down on the nightstand and getting onto the bed beside her.

"No flutes, I'm afraid," he said apologetically. "We'll have to make do with regular glasses."

"We could drink it out of coffee mugs for all I care," said Belle, and he grinned as he began pouring a glass for her.

"And how is Ruby?" he asked.

"Fine. She broke up with Peter a few weeks back, so she was a bit upset after that, but she's okay now." Belle took the glass from him with a smile. "Since she's now single and I'm still pretending to be, we agreed to go to prom together."

"Ugh." He wrinkled his nose, and Belle shoved him playfully.

"Did you just 'ugh' my date?"

He chuckled. "No, I meant 'ugh, I'm chaperoning'. Hours of confiscating alcohol, listening to terrible music and breaking up fights awaits me."

"How dreadful." She grinned as she took a strawberry, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh and chewing. "Will you dance with me?"

He set down the champagne bottle, and clinked his glass against hers, a tiny grin curling the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps."

Belle dipped the strawberry into her champagne, the wine fizzing on her tongue as she sucked at the soft fruit.

"And can I grope you in the library at some point?" she asked, batting her eyelashes, and Gold burst out laughing.

"We should probably leave the groping until we're very sure of not being disturbed," he said, amused, and she shrugged.

"Okay, so I come to your place afterwards and grope you then," she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows. "You can grope me too, Mr Gold, how about it?"

His eyes were glinting with a familiar dark desire, and she badly wanted to kiss him.

"I'm planning on much more than mutual groping," he said softly.

"I'd be disappointed if you weren't," she said with a chuckle.

"Well, that gives me something to look forward to after the tedium of watching over your classmates for an evening," he said, winking. "Now kiss me."

Belle put down her glass and leaned over to kiss him, his lips moist and sweet from the wine. He set his own glass aside, fishing the strawberries and chocolates out from between them and taking her in his arms, pushing her back on the bed as they kissed. A hand slid down her body to tuck under her rear, pulling her closer, and she opened her mouth to him, her tongue slowly caressing his. Their lips parted, his warmth and his scent making her heart thump and her cheeks flush, and she let out a contented sound, reaching up to brush his hair back.

"If anyone had asked me a year ago what I wanted out of life, I wouldn't have been able to answer," she whispered, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling.

"Yes, I know the feeling," he said quietly. "Tell me what you want, Belle. If I can get it for you, it's yours."

She smiled lazily, fingers stroking over his cheeks, thumb rubbing over the softness of his lower lip.

"I want this," she whispered. "Us. I want to go to sleep with you and wake up beside you. I want to kiss you in the street without people judging us. I want to find a place in New York with you and paint the walls and buy throw pillows for the lounge and cook pasta on Tuesday evenings. I want to order pizza on Friday nights and drink wine and curl on the couch and talk until 2 a.m."

He plucked at the buttons of the shirt, gently pulling it apart and sliding a warm hand inside to cup her.

"Go on," he whispered, and her smile widened.

"I want to go grocery shopping with you, and pick out bed linen, and meet you for coffee after class," she said. "I want to get in the shower with you early in the morning and have to run to college because we spent too long in there. I want to spend a Sunday in bed having sex with you while the rain lashes the windows."

He kissed the tip of her thumb, nuzzling against her, his hair already tousled from the strokes of her fingers.

"That sounds perfect, sweetheart," he said softly. "I want that, too."

She reached up to kiss him again, moaning a little as his tongue entered her mouth, her body pressing against him. She wanted everything. She wanted him.


	30. Bliss

The scent of honeysuckle was heavy in the air, its perfume released with the setting sun and mixing with the earthy smell of warm asphalt. Sounds of laughter and faint music floated out along the narrow path that ran down the side of the school, whistles and shouts of excited students piercing the night. Belle tightened her grip on Ruby's arm as they walked, small steps to allow for their extremely high heels. Ruby had to shorten her stride to match Belle's, who was doing her best to remain upright. Ruby could run in the things, and dance all night, of course, but Belle could manage little more than a stately walk. She doubted she'd be able to do much dancing that evening. Not that there would be anyone there that she _wanted_ to dance with, of course. Except _him_.

She sighed, leaning into Ruby a little as they turned a corner towards the main entrance. Gold had said he would be chaperoning, so she would at least see him, but that would be it, of course. No touching. It was maddening, but also exciting; this was the last night of school, the last time they would be on the premises together. He had held his final class with the students earlier that day, thanking them for their hard work, with a dry aside that there were some notable exceptions. The class had even pooled their spare cash to get him a bottle of whisky. A terrible bottle of whisky, to be sure, but a bottle nonetheless. Despite spending the entire year complaining about his methods, his sarcasm, and his tendency to single out students that hadn't done the work, they had reluctantly admired his single-minded dedication to get them to the required standard. As such, finals had gone well, and the majority of students could appreciate what he had done for them. Hence the dreadful whisky.

There had been some talk amongst the students about the fact that he was leaving, and many had expressed disappointment. None of them knew the real reason, of course, but they would by the time New Year arrived. Belle's heart thumped, her belly churning as she worried over what the reaction of the townsfolk would be to their relationship. Jefferson Milliner was the only person in the town apart from Ruby that knew. Belle got the impression that he didn't exactly approve, but at least he wasn't going to say anything. Others would not be so understanding. Ruby had taken some time to come around to the idea, but she was nonetheless supportive, and Belle was hoping that her other friends would feel the same way. She held out little hope of Granny having the same reaction, and the thought of how Ms Mills would respond to the news had given her more than one sleepless night.

"You okay?" Ruby's voice broke through her thoughts, and Belle turned her head with a smile.

"I'm okay," she confirmed. "Kind of wanting to get this over with, excited about what tomorrow might bring. And also kind of sad."

"I get that," Ruby nodded, casting her eye over the school as they walked up through the entrance. "Any idea who the new chem teacher's gonna be?"

"No idea." Belle stumbled a little as her heel caught in a crack, and Ruby grabbed her arm. "Thanks. Last I heard Principal Mills hadn't found a replacement, but I guess she still has the summer."

"Maybe it'll be Mrs Deville-Feinberg," suggested Ruby, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "I get the impression that she doesn't need to work, and she seems to like partying way too much to make morning class every day."

Ruby snickered. "Yeah, she was fun! Knew her stuff, and could tell you the right way to mix up a Long Island Iced Tea and the hangover cure to follow."

"Yeah."

Belle smoothed the golden-yellow skirt of her dress over her hip, chewing her lip a little nervously as they made their way down the main corridor, the music growing louder as they approached the sports hall.

"You're gorgeous," said Ruby sternly. "Stop worrying. Gold's penis will probably take someone's eye out when you walk in."

"Oh my God…" Belle rolled her eyes. "Can you _not_?"

Ruby cackled. "Kidding. You crazy kids are gonna have to behave yourselves tonight, okay?"

"I know," sighed Belle, pushing open the door that led to the sports hall.

Music blared out at them as they entered, the bodies of students flitting this way and that, boys and a few of the girls in tuxes, the majority of the girls in dresses of a myriad of colours, skirts short and wide or long and flowing. Light sparkled off crystal jewellery and hair ornaments, the mingled scents of perfume and cologne and an undertone of perspiration weaving their way around. Belle's eyes scanned the room, and she saw him almost immediately.

Gold was standing by the long tables that held soft drinks and a large punch bowl filled with cut fruit swimming in a virulent pink liquid of unknown origin. So. He was on punch duty. A few glances around let Belle notice some of the boys from her class hovering nearby and looking mutinous, no doubt wanting to add a bottle of vodka to the mix but not daring to go near it. Gold showed his teeth at them in a glinting leer and they shuffled off, muttering.

He was looking delicious, and she felt her heart thud, biting her lip as she ran her eyes over him. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, which she had never seen before, with a pale blue shirt and deep blue tie. He met her eyes as she was studying him, and she blushed, returning his smile briefly before she allowed Ruby to pull her away to join the small group consisting of Emma, Aurora, and Mei-Ling, who had travelled up from Boston to escort Aurora and was looking cool and collected in her spotless tux, her hair in a shining knot on her head and her arm around Aurora's waist. Mary and David were already dancing enthusiastically, and Belle watched them with a contented feeling. Whatever happened, whatever reaction the town would have to her relationship, she was confident that she would always have the support of her friends. Once they got over the shock, of course.

"Gold's looking good, huh?" observed Ruby, making Belle start.

"Very good," she agreed.

Ruby gestured with a plastic cup of Coke, handing the other that she had taken from the drinks table to Belle.

"That's a new look for him," she said. "Does this mean you've broken through that dark exterior and opened him up to the light?"

Belle gave her a flat look, and Ruby grinned.

"I probably won't even get to touch him, anyway," grumbled Belle, taking a drink of her Coke.

"You could always ask him for a dance," suggested Ruby. "No one would care. I'm totally gonna ask Dr Hopper for a dance. He blushed so well when we danced the last time."

She grinned as she said it, and Belle couldn't hide her own smile.

"Well, I guess I could do that," she acknowledged. "We're so close to him being free of this place, free to be with me. I don't want to jinx it."

"Just don't dry-hump one another in front of Principal Mills and you'll be fine," Ruby assured her.

00000

It was some time before she got the opportunity to do anything other than admire him from afar. It took him around fifteen minutes to sniff out who exactly it was that had smuggled in the vodka, and another ten to confiscate it, give the boy concerned a lecture and send him away looking furious. After that he kept his eye on the bowl of punch, raking his eyes over any boy that came near it for the telltale bump of a bottle under their jackets. By the time the punch was no more than a few sad cubes of pineapple floating in a shallow puddle, Belle's feet were already killing her. She had danced with David, with Ruby, with all the girls together, and was regretting her choice of footwear.

As soon as the first slow song started up, Ruby had darted off to tug at the hand of Dr Hopper, grinning toothily at him as though she was going to eat him alive, and he was now moving from foot to foot with a hand at her waist, blushing and looking as though he had no idea how he had gotten there. Ruby winked at her as they passed, and Belle bit back a smile.

"Miss French." His voice, smooth and warm and wonderful, made her turn with a smile, and he was there, holding out his hand with a questioning eyebrow. She resisted the urge to kiss him, merely taking his hand and allowing him to slip the other around her waist.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked quietly.

"I am now." She slid her hand up to his shoulder as they turned slowly. "Although I feel like everyone's watching."

"A few people, perhaps," he said, glancing around. "Let them. They'll have more scandalous things to talk of soon."

"Yeah."

Belle didn't want to think about that. She wanted to be with him, of course, but the way people would react… She was more concerned for him than for herself.

"You're looking exceptionally beautiful," he said, and she smiled, meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, you don't look too bad, either," she said. "I wouldn't mind seeing what's under that shirt."

"Well, perhaps later," he suggested, his eyes twinkling.

"I wish." Belle pouted. "We're both stuck here until the end. I know Ruby would cover for me if we could get away, but…"

"I understand," he said. "It's probably just as well. There'll be time enough to shock the Storybrooke residents."

He was grinning wickedly now, and she wanted to kiss him more than ever.

"How will we do it?" she asked. "I mean, are we just going to start going on dates at Granny's?"

"Well, that's one option, I suppose," he admitted. "The slowest and least scandalous option, perhaps." He stopped on the balls of his feet and spun her around, making her giggle, before settling into the gentle turn of the dance once more.

"Okay, so what's the quickest and _most_ scandalous option?" she asked, enjoying his flirting.

Gold smiled down at her, warm light reflected in the depths of his eyes.

"Marry me," he whispered, and an unseen hand grasped her heart and squeezed it. She swallowed thickly.

"Wh-what?" she stammered, and his smile widened.

He pulled her a little closer, so that she could feel the press of his body, the warmth of his hand on her lower back. He bent his head a little, and she could feel his desire, his need, his love, sweeping out and surrounding her with the scent of his cologne. She focused on the soft swell of his lips as the tip of his tongue darted out to wet them, leaving them glistening. Her heart was thumping, and she flicked her eyes up to meet his, light gleaming in their dark depths as he smiled down at her.

"Marry me," he said softly. "Be my wife, share my bed, have my babies if you're willing."

Belle realised her mouth was open, and shut it with a snap.

"Are you - are you serious?" she asked, and his smile became a grin.

"I may have drunk a couple of large whiskies to prepare myself for this moment," he admitted. Belle wrinkled her nose.

"I hope it wasn't the stuff _we_ got you," she said, and he winced.

"No, not that."

"That's probably terrible," she added.

"It's - memorable," he said in a delicate tone. "But I certainly appreciate the sentiment. And that no one had spat in it."

Belle giggled, and he turned her around, her thoughts whirling a thousand times faster than their bodies.

"Do I get an answer?" he asked mildly. "Or do you need some time?"

"I can't remember the question," she said, her voice low and shy, and his grin widened. But there was a spark of anxiety there too, just behind his eyes. She didn't want him to doubt himself. Not again.

"Ask me again," she whispered, and his grip tightened a little.

"It's you, Belle," he breathed. "You're the one. The one I've always waited for. The one I don't deserve." He leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear and making her shiver. "Marry me," he whispered.

She swallowed hard, the tip of her tongue sweeping across lips suddenly dry. She knew her answer.

"Yes," she said softly. "Yes, I will."

His eyes widened, as though he couldn't believe the words falling from her mouth, and his lower lip wobbled, emotion in every line of his face. She was almost bursting with happiness.

"I have to kiss you," she said breathlessly. "I _need_ to kiss you."

Gold cast his eyes around warily before releasing her and stepping back.

"The library," he said. "Wait ten minutes, and follow me."

He winked at her, catching up his cane from where he had leant it against the table and striding from the room. She watched him go, moving to the table to snatch up a cup of Coke, and stood there sipping it nervously as she waited. Ruby was chatting with Dr Hopper as they danced sedately in the middle of the floor, and he was swallowing hard, Adam's apple bobbing as she beamed up at him. Mary had her head on David's shoulder, and Mei-Ling and Aurora were kissing gently as they swayed to the music. Belle took a deep breath, her heart fluttering and swelling until it felt as though it would burst. She had to see him. She had to kiss him.

Looking at her watch, she saw that it had been eight minutes, and that was quite long enough, thank you. She put her half empty cup back on the table, smoothed the skirt of her dress and walked purposefully from the room, letting the door swing shut behind her. There were students talking in the corridor, where they didn't have to compete with the volume of the music, but she saw no one she knew, and she strode off to the library as quickly as she could in her heels, her heart thumping with anticipation. The corridor that led to the library was empty, as she had expected, and she pushed open the doors and peered inside, the room dimly lit above one stack of shelves and the air filled with the dusty, familiar scent of books.

"Rum?" she whispered, and turned her head at the tap of his cane from the far end, from the stacks that housed books on human biology.

She made her way towards the sound, turning the corner of the stack to see him facing her with his cane grounded in front of him and a tiny grin on his face. Returning his smile, she rushed towards him and almost flung herself into his arms, causing a surprised grunt.

"Hurry up and kiss me before someone comes looking!" she hissed.

He bent his mouth to hers, their lips meeting clumsily, desperately, tongues touching and hands running over bodies. She moaned a little, pressing herself against him, pushing her breast into his hand as he squeezed her through the dress. He tasted of coffee, rich and dark, and very faintly of whisky, and she stroked her tongue against his, loving the feel of his hands on her and the press of his lips. Her heart was thumping with excitement, her breath coming hard through her nose, and she wanted him to lift up her dress and take her right there in the library. She worked her hands inside his suit jacket, running her fingers over his back and making him groan into her mouth, and his cane fell to the floor with a loud clatter as he pulled her closer.

The squeak of the library door and a click of heels made their lips fly apart, both of them gasping. Belle's heart thumped in her chest and she shared a panicked stare with Gold, who pressed a finger to his lips.

"Is anyone in here?" Principal Mills. Crap.

Belle looked around wildly, but Gold shook his head, still with his finger to his lips, and took a silent step back from her, bending to pick up his cane. He straightened his jacket and walked towards the sound of Ms Mills's voice.

"Ms Mills," Belle heard him say. "I thought I heard a noise from in here. It was nothing."

"Ah, Mr Gold, I've been looking for you," Ms Mills said in clipped tones. "One of the boys has been caught with some rum. Not before two of his friends threw up in the science lab, however. I need a male teacher to go and haul him out of the bathroom, and given that it was your lab..."

"Understood."

Belle heard their footsteps fade, the squeak of the door as they left, and heaved a sigh of relief. She brushed herself down, ensuring her dress was straight, and patted her hair a little, making her way quickly back to the sports hall. She managed to slip inside without anyone noticing, and joined her friends, earning a slightly suspicious look from Ruby.

"Everything okay?" asked Ruby, and Belle grinned at her.

"Everything's amazing," she said. "How was your dance with Dr Hopper?"

Ruby sniffed. "He accidentally touched my left boob and I thought his head was going to explode or something," she said. "If I ever put the moves on him I think he'd die."

Belle giggled. "Are you sure?" she teased. "Maybe if you _also_ had a forbidden relationship with a teacher, Granny would overlook mine."

"Not a chance!" Ruby snorted. "If you think she's not gonna freak out and want to shoot Gold with a crossbow, you're insane." She took a drink of her Coke. "How are things with him, anyway? I saw you guys practically making out on the floor."

"Not bad," shrugged Belle. "Kind of got engaged."

Ruby spat Coke everywhere, coughing, her eyes bulging.

 _"What?"_ she wheezed, and Belle rubbed her back.

"Sort of, anyway," she amended. "He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. There's no way we can do anything until New Year, though."

"Still." Ruby kissed her cheek. "That's a pretty big step. Congratulations. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist you in that dress."

She winked, and Belle grinned at her.

"Yeah, well, it's gonna take a while until we can be together," she said. "I have to get accepted to college, get a place with him…"

"Survive the confession to Granny…" nodded Ruby, and Belle winced.

"How d'you think she'll take it?" she asked nervously, and Ruby sucked her teeth.

"Not sure," she said finally. "I think she'll hate the idea. She'll try to talk you out of it, she'll call Gold every name under the sun, and then she'll blame herself. She might accept it in, say, a hundred years or so."

"Great," said Belle gloomily, and Ruby patted her arm.

"Don't worry, you'll be going off to college," she said soothingly. "Gold'll only have to wear a cup and a stab vest until you guys leave town."

Belle sighed, and Ruby nudged her.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go dance with the others. You can take your shoes off if you need to, but we should enjoy this rite of passage while we can, right?"

Belle grinned at her again, inking her arm through Ruby's and allowing herself to be pulled away to where Emma and Mary were performing an exaggerated waltz in the middle of the floor.

Gold watched her from the shadows, smiling to himself as she laughed, her strappy heels swinging from two fingers as she danced with Ruby. The light gleamed on her pale skin, shining curls bouncing around her shoulders, and he wanted badly to touch her, to pull her into his arms and hold her close and breathe her in.

"You know, standing around all heart-eyes is a dead giveaway." Jefferson's voice made him turn with a grin.

"That obvious?" he said dryly.

"To me." Jefferson winked at him, and took a drink from the plastic cup in his hand. "So. Last day. How's it feel?"

Gold sighed. "A little strange," he admitted. "I'll still be in Storybrooke, she'll still be here. We'll be - together - but not, if you see what I mean."

"Well, I look forward to you guys finally being out," said Jefferson, with a grin. "If you need to keep the pitchfork-wielding mobs at bay you can always stay at my place."

"Yes, Carella and Ursula made the same offer." Gold sighed, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand. "I'm more worried for Belle than myself. People can say what they like about me."

"Oh, they will, don't worry." Jefferson grinned, raising the plastic cup n a mock toast, and Gold gave him a wry look.

"Belle's only ever known love from those around her," he went on. "I don't want her to experience censure, just because of me."

"You're worried that she might think it's all too much trouble?" said Jefferson knowingly.

"A little," admitted Gold. "I suppose we'll just have to see how things go. Next summer is a long way off, and she has her studies to concentrate on until then."

He watched as Belle turned on bare toes, laughing, and a smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. For the moment, at least, they could relax and enjoy the time they had.

* * *

It was after midnight when Belle sneaked out of her bedroom at Granny's in sweatpants and a grey hooded jacket, making her way silently down the stairs and setting off into the night at a run. A few minutes later she was knocking at his house, breathless and excited, and Gold's mouth spread in a wide smile as he opened the door.

"So," she said, grinning up at him. "Let's see what's under that shirt."

* * *

Belle stretched, yawning, as soft kisses to the back of her neck woke her, and she grinned as she felt his hands slide up beneath the silk shirt that he had been wearing the previous evening, and which was now draped around her.

"What time is it?" she asked sleepily.

"Just after six," he whispered. "You should probably think about heading back from your bracing morning exercise."

She giggled.

"Granny's probably awake already," she agreed. "I'll just say it was a super long run."

"Well, we worked up enough of a sweat for her to believe you."

His teeth gently nipped at her shoulder, and she wriggled in his arms, turning to face him as he pushed her back on the bed and his mouth found hers. Belle kissed him, humming in pleasure at the taste of him, her hands sliding around his waist and up his naked back.

"I love you," she whispered. "I do, I love you so much."

"I know." He kissed the tip of her nose. "And I love you. Always, Belle."

She sighed happily, wriggling a little beneath him, wonderfully comfortable in the warm cocoon they had made of the sheets.

"So," she said, wrapping her arms around him and lacing her fingers together. "When we were together at the cabin, I told you what I wanted from our life together. Are you sure you can make all these dull, domestic dreams come true when we move to New York?"

His eyes were twinkling, and he grinned down at her.

"They all sounded perfectly reasonable to me," he said. "And not in the least bit dull, I might add. Was there anything you wanted to change?"

"No, I don't think so." She reached up to kiss him. "I think I'm good with what we agreed. Particularly the sex on Sunday mornings."

She kissed him again, and his hand squeezed her breast before sliding down into the hollow of her waist and over her hip. He tugged her closer, his tongue sliding against hers, and she made a noise of contentment as she pressed herself against him. She could feel him hard against her leg, and she wanted him, wanted him to peel off that shirt and slide deep inside and make love to her, slow and sweet. She pulled her lips from his with a sigh, stroking her fingers through his hair once more as she looked up at him.

"And you?" she asked. "What do you want?"

He was silent for a moment, dark eyes cast to the side as he thought, his thumb stroking her skin in a gentle rhythm. He looked back at her, his gaze intense.

"What I've always wanted, if I'm honest," he admitted. "Love. Family. Happiness."

Belle nodded as he hesitated, and he gave her a crooked little smile.

"Peace," he said quietly. "I want peace, Belle."


	31. Transformation

**A/N: I can't recall if I stated this earlier, but I am no longer posting new works on and have switched over to AO3 for all new fics. I will of course continue to update the WIPs I have posted here until they're finished. If anyone wants to check out the new Rumbelle fics I've produced, I go by Emospritelet over there too. You will need an AO3 account to view most of them, but it's easy to sign up and there is a HUGE amount of fic there written by myself and many others for your reading pleasure.**

 **Now, to return to Penance. I anticipate that there will be maybe three chapters after this one, so we're nearing the end :)**

* * *

Summer passed in a stream of long, lazy days, filled with warm contentment. Belle was able to get to the cabin during the day at weekends, and sneaked from her room to run to Gold's house in the night at least once a week. They didn't always sleep together when she went to the cabin; sometimes he would cook for her, and they would talk over her plans for college. He helped with the drafting of her applications, so that she would be ready to submit them, and discussed possible study options with her. Sometimes they would sit curled on his couch, reading in silence with his fingers stroking absently over her hip. She enjoyed it, the blissful calm, the feeling of belonging, of home.

With the coming of fall, school started again, and Principal Mills eventually managed to find a substitute chemistry teacher: a small, nervous-looking man by the name of Jekyll. He was clearly very knowledgeable, but inclined to go off on tangents while speaking, and found it difficult to hold the attention of the class. Belle found herself feeling thankful that she wouldn't be going on to major in chemistry, but Ruby was looking increasingly harassed as October drew to a close, that being her chosen field of study.

Belle decided to make an early application to Columbia, having visited with Ruby and Granny during the summer. She liked the university very much, and whilst New York seemed impossibly busy after the quiet calm of Storybrooke, she fell in love with the city almost immediately. She found herself eyeing apartment buildings near the university campus, wondering whether she and Gold would rent one, or whether it would be further downtown. If she was accepted to study there, she planned to return with him in the spring to look for a place, when they would be out and together and no one could say a damn word about it. The thought made her equal parts nervous, excited and determined.

* * *

October became November, and Storybrooke began preparing for the annual Miners' Day celebrations. The local festival was held on the first Saturday of the month, and there were stalls of food and handmade goods, games and children's competitions and, when the sun set, music and dancing in the square. Belle had found herself looking forward to the festival in a way she had not been able to since her father had gotten sick, and she wandered the stalls arm-in-arm with Ruby in a bubble of almost pleasant melancholy, remembering how excited she had been as a child newly-arrived in the town, clasping her father's hand, her mouth sticky with cotton candy. The day was cold, a few flakes of snow beginning to fall, and the two girls were bundled up in wool coats and scarves with hats pulled down on their heads, their breath misting the air before them. By the time the children's fancy dress contest was over and prizes handed out, the cold was seeping through their boots.

"Hot chocolate's sounding good right about now," said Ruby, and Belle nodded in agreement.

Gloved hands wrapped around cardboard cups of piping hot chocolate, they made their way slowly past the stalls, looking over the jams, cakes and knitwear being sold by the townsfolk.

"Granny might like one of these for Christmas," suggested Ruby, stroking her fingers over embroidered shawls and angora scarves.

"Hmm." Belle began looking through them, taking a sip of her chocolate. "They're pretty. I wouldn't mind one for myself."

"Well, don't buy one, let me. I had no clue what to get you."

Ruby started looking with more interest, and Belle grinned.

"So, what do _you_ want?" she asked.

"About two weeks' notice of when you're going to tell Granny about you-know-what, so I can leave the country," said Ruby airily.

Belle shot her a look, worried they would be overheard. The stallholder was busy talking with another potential customer, however, and she breathed a little easier. She jerked her head at Ruby, and the two girls wandered away from the stall and back into the milling crowds, where they could talk in peace.

"I have no clue how I'm even going to raise the subject," she said gloomily. "She'll _kill_ him. She'll kill _me_."

"Actually, she'll probably kill _me_ for not ratting you out." said Ruby. "You might get a pass because of your dad."

"Rum won't," said Belle dryly.

"Oh, no, she'll _definitely_ kill him," confirmed Ruby, taking a sip of her chocolate. Belle sighed.

"Maybe I could tell her on New Year's Eve," she suggested. "After she's had a few drinks and is less able to - to - aim properly. Help me hide all her knives, okay?"

Ruby chuckled, and Belle sighed again.

"No, I owe her the truth when she's sober," she conceded. "I'll just have to - I don't know - I guess I'll just be honest."

"Let me know how that works out," said Ruby. "I'll have left town for Alaska, or something." She squeaked as Belle shoved her. "Okay! I promise to be there for moral support!"

Belle heaved another sigh, and Ruby eyed her.

"What about the girls?" she asked. "Emma, Mary, Aurora? You gonna tell them at the same time?"

"Granny should know before anyone else," said Belle. "I'm less worried about them. They'll probably be grossed out and call me an idiot, but they'll get used to the idea, I think."

"Maybe." Ruby glanced around at the crowds, and nudged Belle, grinning. "Look. The object of your desire."

Belle turned, and saw that Gold had just purchased a steaming cup of coffee from the same stand where they had bought their chocolate. He was dressed in a thick woollen overcoat over his suit, a scarf around his neck and black leather gloves on his hands. She felt a thrill go through her at the sight of him. He had been out of town for the past week, strangely reticent about telling her what he was up to, and she had missed his company, his touch. His mouth quirked in a grin as he spotted her, and she flashed him a smile, reddening at the look in his eyes.

"God, you two dorks are _so_ obvious!" sighed Ruby, and tugged at Belle's arm. "C'mon. let's get something to eat. I need all the energy I can get for dancing."

"Okay."

Belle allowed herself to be pulled towards one of the food stands, and finished her chocolate as Ruby bought them both a hot dog. She cast a look over her shoulder, to see Gold still staring at her. He took a sip of his coffee, and winked, that tiny smile still on his face. It made her remember with vivid accuracy the last time they had had sex. She had run to the cabin, feet crunching on the frosted ground and the cold air burning her lungs, and he had pulled her inside the dim, cozy warmth of the cabin and had laid her down on the rug before the crackling fire to kiss every inch of her.

"Here. Extra onions."

Ruby's voice made her jump, and she turned back, taking the hotdog with a murmur of thanks. She could still feel his eyes on her, and she shoved the end of the hotdog into her mouth. Which didn't help with her memories of their last night together in the slightest.

The sun was sinking towards the horizon, and Belle and Ruby watched as Leroy and six of his friends began setting up their instruments in preparation for the evening's music. A wooden stage had been erected at the edge of the square, strings of coloured lights looped around it and a curtain of red cloth hanging from the front with _Miners' Day_ in large white letters. The cloth also helped to obscure the wiring that snaked beneath the stage to power the amplifiers, and Ruby and Belle shared a grin as Leroy strummed a chord on his guitar and got a burst of feedback. Astrid, his wife, now heavily pregnant and due any day, was beaming up at him from in front of the stage, carrying a box of thick candles.

"Is Astrid selling candles for the nuns?" asked Ruby, perplexed, and Belle nodded.

"She stayed with the nuns before she met Leroy, so she always helps them out," she said. "I hope she does better than the others; the candles never seem to sell that well."

"They should do other kinds," said Ruby, licking mustard from her thumb. "They only ever do the plain ones. If they used colours and scents, they'd be more popular." She nudged Belle. "You should get Gold to buy a few for the shag-cabin for after New Year. Get that nice, romantic atmosphere going while you're hiding from the pitchfork-wielding mob."

She was grinning, and Belle gave her a flat look, so Ruby shrugged.

"Just a suggestion," she said, and gestured towards the stage. "Astrid must be ready to pop any day now, she's _huge_!"

"She's having twins," explained Belle. "I'm so happy for them. Leroy gets the biggest, stupidest grin on his face whenever he sees her, they're adorable."

"Yeah, they're almost as obvious as you two," said Ruby absently, and shoved the last of her hotdog into her mouth.

"Look! Mary and David are over there!"

Belle waved at the crowd, spying their friends eating fries from a cardboard cone held between them by David, and Ruby licked her fingers clean, chewing furiously.

"C'mon. Let's see if I can kick David's ass on the high striker!"

"You might have more of a chance with Whack-a-Mole," said Belle dryly, and followed her over.

* * *

It was full dark by the time the band started to perform, the coloured lights strung above the stage and around the square casting a pretty glow over the crowds that had gathered to drink and dance. Leroy and his band were playing a raucous mix of rock and country tunes, the townsfolk dancing and laughing and spinning one another around until they were breathless. Belle bowed out after an hour to get herself a drink, laughing as Ruby tried to encourage her to join the others for 'just one more'.

"I'll be back in a minute!" she called, leaving Ruby and Emma to dance some sort of impromptu jig while Mary and David clapped along.

Grinning to herself, she wound her way through the dancing couples, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and trotted over to one of the stands selling cold soda. The pace of the music had increased a little, and she found her feet tapping as she joined the line behind several other townsfolk.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Gold's voice made her turn with a wide smile, and he was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling in the warmth of the coloured lights.

"Looks like the evening got even better," she said coyly. "I haven't seen you all week, will you dance with me?"

Gold inclined his head, still smiling.

"Somehow I don't think the two of us dancing in the middle of the town square would be a good move," he said, in a dry tone, and she pulled a face, stepping out of line and away from anyone who might overhear.

"They won't be able to say a damn thing about it next year," she grumbled.

"Next year you won't be here," he reminded her. "And they'll be saying plenty about it, trust me."

"Well, by then I'll be far too busy snuggling in bed with you and having all the sex to give a crap what they think," she said primly, and his eyebrows twitched, amusement making his eyes crinkle.

"I missed you this week," he said quietly, and she grinned.

"I missed you too," she confessed. "Want to tell me where you were, or is it still a big secret?"

He cast his eyes around quickly, then beckoned to her, walking away from the crowds to start on a circuit of the square, his cane tapping against the cold ground. Belle followed curiously, wishing she could put her arm through his as they did when they walked in the woods. She enjoyed those times with him: the dark, moist earth and dead leaves squishing beneath their feet, the play of dappled light through the trees and the scent of pine in the air. Being unable to touch him, his calm voice raised to counteract the shouts and squeals from the dancers, his scent masked by the smell of frying burgers, was not quite so pleasant.

"I - went to New York," he said, his voice a little hesitant. "I thought I might start making some enquiries, if we're to move there."

"But I haven't been accepted yet," she reminded him.

"No, but you should find out next month, if you are," he said. "And I have every confidence in you. Besides, it's not as though I accepted any jobs that may or may not have been offered."

She spun on her toes to face him, walking backwards with her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes wide.

"You were offered a _job_?" she asked excitedly, and he grinned at her.

"Two, actually," he said. "One at a school that's not too far from the university, so it could work out very well."

"Oh, so you _are_ going to teach?" she asked, pleased. "Good. I know how much you love it, and it's stupid to think they won't hire you just because of me."

He sucked his teeth, looking up at the sky.

"Well, let's just say that I considered your hypothesis, and found your conclusions to be credible based on the available evidence," he said, and she giggled.

She fell into step beside him again, and they continued on their slow circuit in contented silence.

"Well, when do you have to let them know?" she asked then, and he shrugged.

"By Christmas. At which point we should know whether you've been accepted. If you're certain that's where you want to go, of course."

"Yes!" She turned to him with a wide grin. "Oh, it's so wonderful! I can't wait! I get to study, and you get to teach, and we both get to meet up after class and you can moan about the students and I can moan about the teachers, it'll be _amazing_!"

Belle clasped her hands together with excitement, her heart swelling with love for him. She wanted to kiss him, and from the way his eyes had dropped to her parted lips, he wanted it too.

"Well then," he said. "In the New Year, you and I will need to go apartment-hunting."

"Can we get a cat?" she blurted, and he chuckled.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "I think it depends on who owns the building."

She could barely contain herself at the thought of a new life, a fresh start, a life filled with love and studies and new experiences. He was smiling at her enthusiasm, and she wanted to kiss him so, so badly…

"Hold me!" she said breathlessly. "Now, or I might burst!"

"Well, that would be a tragedy," he said, amused, and looked around carefully. "I don't think this is really the time or the place, however..."

"Behind the stage," she interrupted. "Follow me."

She stomped off without waiting to see if he had listened, and made her way around to the rear of the stage, where they would be hidden from the dancing crowds. It was darker here, with fewer of the coloured lights shining above her, and as he turned the corner and came into view his face was in shadow, a bluish glow of moonlight on his hair. She felt a flutter of arousal in her belly, and bounced on her toes as he drew near. They were behind the speakers, the low bass sound vibrating through her a little, the rhythmic beat of the drums seeming to match the thump of her heart as she reached for his hand, pulling him close.

"This is a very bad idea," he said softly. "We should leave, before you're missed. You could come over later."

"Oh, Ruby might miss me, but she'll know I'm with you," said Belle impatiently. "I haven't seen you all week and you come back and tell me things that make me fall in love with you all over again, so I need you to kiss me senseless, okay?"

He looked around warily, and she sighed, turning on the toes of her boots as she tried to find a more secure place. She grinned as she peered beneath the wooden stage, and straightened up with a beaming smile.

Gold's eyes narrowed as he realised where she intended him to follow her.

"You can't be serious," he said flatly, and she giggled.

"Come on! There's plenty of room, it's dark, and absolutely no one will know we're there!"

She ducked down, crawling towards the front of the stage, and he shook his head fondly at her impulsiveness. He pulled off his leather gloves, stuffing them into his pocket, shrugging off his overcoat and throwing it after her along with his cane before bending down to follow. It would probably play havoc with his leg, and he'd have to put a heated pad on the thing when he got home, but he wanted to kiss her too. Plus, if he was completely honest, there was a certain thrill in stealing beneath the stage at a Storybrooke festival to kiss his love, while the town partied around them in blissful ignorance. And so he made his way beneath the wooden boards, thankful that the ground was dry and the structure hadn't been up long enough to get covered in dust and spiders. His leg twinged painfully, but he ignored it, inching forwards.

Belle had crawled to the front of the stage and laid his overcoat down on the cold ground, his cane by the side. She was sitting on the coat, watching him approach, light shining through the red banner and bathing her skin in its warm glow.

"I may need some help getting out of here," he chuckled, and she reached for him as he crawled up to her, hands sinking into the cashmere scarf that was wrapped around his neck.

"You're not going anywhere just yet," she said firmly, and pulled his mouth down on hers.

Her mouth was hot, and she tasted like chocolate and cinnamon, and very faintly of something sharp and salty that he couldn't place. He lay down beside her and took her in his arms, their hands pawing at one another through the thick layers of clothing as the music from the stage above throbbed through their bodies. Belle pushed her fingers through his hair, pulling him on top of her, and he could feel himself harden at her touch, his desire for her making him reckless, not caring that they were mere feet away from the entire town and hidden only by a banner of red cloth. He managed to unbutton her coat and slide a hand inside to squeeze her, and she moaned into his mouth, pushing up into him, her leg wrapping around him and tugging him against her. It was exciting; the cheerful sound of the music, the throb of the drumbeat, the squeals and shouts from the crowd and the taste of Belle on his tongue.

Belle could feel her heart thudding in her chest, her arousal heightened by the danger they were in, the risk they were taking. It was foolish, she knew that, but lust and adrenaline were a heady combination, and she reached down between them to where he was pressing against her leg, hard and heavy. She squeezed him through his suit pants, and he let out a muffled exclamation, swallowed by her lips before he pulled back a little, breathing hard.

"I'm not going to be able to walk around in public for some time, you do realise that?" he growled, and she caught his lower lip between gentle teeth before swiping the tip of her tongue across.

"I didn't say anything about us getting up," she whispered, and scraped one fingernail up the hard length of his cock through the fine wool pants, running it back down to the base as he shuddered visibly.

" _Fuck_ , Belle!" he groaned, and she smiled, still gripping him hard.

"Oh, yes!" she breathed, her thumb scraping over the head and making him gasp. "Yes, please!"

She kicked off her boots, scuffing the heels on the rough ground, grinning with delight as he slid a hand up her thigh and tugged down her tights and underwear. He pulled them off one leg only, the night air a cold shock against her bare skin, and he bent to kiss her mouth as his warm hand cupped her betwen the legs, his fingers curling and stroking through the well of fluid he found. Belle moaned again, tugging at his belt in frustration, and he grinned into her mouth as she plucked it open and unzipped his pants.

"Gonna have to be quick," she muttered, reaching inside his underwear to free him.

"Oh, I think that's a given, love," he whispered, and she giggled, his cock hot and heavy in the palm of her hand.

She wriggled a little, opening her legs wider, and he pushed up inside her with a grunt of pleasure, making her gasp at the feel of him as he slid inside. The zipper of his pants was scratching at her skin, and she drew up her knees, wrapping her legs around him as he began to thrust, his fingers pushing through her hair and knocking the woollen hat from her head.

Gold was lost in her, buried deep, her soft heat surrounding him, his tongue in her mouth as he moved. The pounding of the drum and the deep, heavy sound of the bass was washing over him, the thump of footsteps on the boards of the stage above adding to his sense of urgency, to the excitement of their illicit encounter. The music reached a crescendo; the strumming of guitars rising in tempo as the applause started up, and he quickened his pace, the first tingles of his approaching orgasm rising up through him. The final, deafening beat of the instruments sounded as one, and he thrust up into Belle with a groan, stars bursting behind his eyes as the audience began clapping and cheering. Belle cried out and clenched around him, their moans drowned out by the noises of appreciation from the dancing crowds, and Gold slowed and stopped, breathing heavily, kissing her forehead as he tried to calm his racing heart.

"Okay, we're gonna have a couple of beers, and we'll be right back," announced Leroy, the microphone making his words echo around the square. There was a rumble of footsteps on the stage above, and Gold looked down at Belle.

"We should get out of here," he said. "Your friends will be looking for you."

Belle nodded, letting out a contented sigh, and listening with half an ear as Astrid's voice piped up nearby, gushing over the band's performance.

"Honey, watch out!" she heard Leroy shout, and there was a scuffling noise, a dark shape blocking out some of the light shining through the banner, and then a squeak of alarm as the red cloth was ripped away.

Belle's heart was in her mouth, her pulse throbbing high in her throat as she came eye-to-eye with Astrid, lying on her back with her feet in the air, having grabbed the banner on her way to the ground as she fell. Astrid looked confused for a moment, but then her eyes widened, her mouth falling open before she whipped her head around and reached up for her husband's hands, Leroy already fussing over whether she was hurt. Gold had gone very still, as though he was frozen, as though by failing to move, the gaze of the townsfolk would somehow pass them by. Leroy and Walter hauled Astrid to her feet, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment Belle thought they might make it, that the town would be so concerned over the pregnant woman who had fallen on the cold ground that they would fail to see what she had uncovered.

" _What the HELL d'you think you're doing, you PERVERT?"_

Granny's voice was a roar in the sudden silence, a sound of pure fury that hushed the crowd, and Belle closed her eyes, as though that would somehow take her back in time by half an hour. As though the ground would open up and swallow them whole.


	32. Damnation

**Last time Belle and Gold's relationship suddenly became public knowledge in the worst way possible. Here's what happened next**

* * *

There was a tense, awful silence, and the townsfolk stared at them, Granny's ample bosom heaving with outrage. The sound of Gold's zipper was very loud, and Belle unwound her legs from around him, allowing him to roll off her and grasp his cane before ducking under the front of the stage and pushing himself to his feet. He was shielding Belle from the eyes of the crowd somewhat, feet placed shoulder-width apart and his cane planted in front of him. She hurriedly pulled up her underwear and tights, tugging on her hat and boots and grabbing the overcoat they had been lying on as she slithered out to stand beside him. Granny was standing across the square with many of the townsfolk clustered around her, opening and closing her fists and shaking with anger. Gold was glaring at the crowd, brows drawn down, as though he was waiting for someone to make a move, and Belle was reminded of a stand-off in an old Western.

"You get _away_ from her!" stormed Granny, striding forward.

It seemed to break the spell, and others closed in on them. Belle glanced around, spying Ruby watching her with a troubled expression, Emma and Mary by her side with eyes as wide as dinner plates. Gold raised his chin.

"No."

"You're a _pervert_!" Granny shouted. "I'd never have believed it! In _this_ town! Assaulting an innocent girl like that! Where the hell are your morals?"

"That was a private moment," he said, his words clipped, terse. "Unfortunate that it was seen by most of the town, but that was not our intention."

"Oh, I just bet it wasn't!" snapped Granny. "Where's the damn sheriff?"

She looked around, and Gold rolled his eyes, taking his overcoat from Belle.

"I've broken no law here," he said, in a bored voice, shrugging on the coat. "I can't imagine why the sheriff would be interested."

"Because he might want to stop me _murdering_ your sorry ass!" shouted Granny. "Preying on a vulnerable young girl! And you a teacher, as well! How many others have there been?"

There was a troubled murmuring from the crowd, and Gold's mouth flattened as he straightened the collar of his coat.

"I highly doubt that Belle wants to discuss this in front of the entire town," he said coldly.

" _Shut up!"_ snapped Granny, and held out a hand. "Belle, honey, come here. I won't let him hurt you again."

Belle shrank into Gold's side, and he put an arm around her shoulders, his touch sending her strength.

"Please, Granny," she whispered, her face burning under the scrutiny of the crowd. "It's not like that, I promise."

"Oh, like hell it isn't!"

"No, really," insisted Belle. "We…"

"Belle, he assaulted you!" Granny clenched her fists. "If I wasn't a lady I'd hit him where it hurts!"

"Perhaps we could discuss this in a less public place," suggested Gold. "I believe Belle feels humiliated enough, considering."

Granny's lower jaw protruded, her eyes flashing, and she stomped up to him to glare into his eyes. Gold watched her impassively.

"Screw being a lady," she muttered, and punched him below the belt.

Gold dropped like a stone, his cane clattering to the ground, and a shocked gasp rippled through the crowd. Belle squatted by his side, chewing her lip in anguish and stroking fingers through his hair as he groaned, his face ashen.

"Hey, nice work, Granny!" shouted one of the townsfolk.

"Serves him right, the pervert!" shouted another.

"Stop it!" pleaded Belle tearfully. "Please! I love him!"

"Oh, don't be a fool, girl!" Granny scolded. "I've seen men like him before, believe me!"

"Okay, okay, can everybody just calm down?"

Graham pushed through the crowd, holding up empty hands in a pacifying gesture, and Granny rounded on him.

"Arrest him, Sheriff!" she ordered.

"If you don't there could be trouble!" someone shouted.

"Yeah, trouble for _him_!" shouted another, and Graham looked around. Belle noticed his eyebrow twitch as he picked up on the ugly atmosphere. Jefferson threaded his way through the crowd, squatting down to squeeze Gold's shoulder.

"Come on," he said quietly. "You need to get out of here."

"I think it's best that you come down to the station, Mr Gold, until we've sorted this out," said Graham, in a voice that carried, and the townsfolk made noises of approval.

Belle bit her lip hard enough to bleed, tears welling in her eyes as Jefferson helped Gold to his feet, picking up his cane and handing it to him before supporting him on one side. Gold cast a final glance at Belle, and she wanted to touch him, to kiss him. He gave her a brief, encouraging smile, his face tight with pain, and then turned away, allowing Graham and Jefferson to lead him out of the square. The crowd sprang apart around them, as though he had something vile and contagious, and Ruby hurried to Belle's side, putting an arm around her.

"Home, girls," said Granny grimly. "Now."

Ruby gave her a comforting squeeze, tugging her towards the edge of the square, and Belle allowed herself to be led away. Curious eyes followed her, the faces of the townsfolk by turns sympathetic, disapproving and downright hostile. There was some judgemental muttering from half a dozen middle-aged women about the length of her skirt, and the message such a thing sent, but Granny silenced them all with a piercing glare and a clenched jaw, her shoulders rolling as though she was getting ready to punch someone else.

They made their way back to the diner in silence, Belle still chewing at her lip, and Granny ushered them inside and locked the doors, gesturing impatiently to the lounge. Belle shuffled through, dreading the inevitable confrontation, and her heart sank further as Granny stomped in after them and turned to face her, arms folded.

"Right," she said sternly. "Tell me what that sick bastard did, Belle. How long has he been assaulting you?"

"It's not like that." Belle shifted her feet, uncomfortable, and Granny put her hands on her hips.

"Oh really?" she demanded. "Because to me that's _exactly_ what it looked like! Was it when your dad passed away? Let me guess, he offered you a shoulder to cry on, and one thing led to another?"

Belle shook her head, wanting more than anything not to have this conversation. It didn't help that his seed was leaking from her to pool in her underwear, a physical reminder of their ill-timed lust and lack of control. Ruby was casting worried glances at her.

"For what it's worth I think he actually does love her," she began, and Granny whirled to face her.

" _You knew about this?"_ she barked, and Ruby quailed.

"Maybe," she muttered, ducking her head, and Granny threw up her hands.

"So I have _two_ foolish girls to deal with!" she spat. "I thought the pair of you had more sense than to believe a man when he's trying to get in your pants!"

"Hey, he didn't get in _my_ pants!" spluttered Ruby, eyes wide with indignation.

"But you stood by and gave your blessing while he made a move on Belle!" snapped Granny.

"Well, I did kick him in the crotch when I found out," admitted Ruby. "But…"

"Good!" said Granny, with an approving sniff. "At least one of you has a mite of intelligence!"

"But that was at first," she went on. "I thought he was just using her, but he's not, Granny!"

"Oh, what a load of crap!" Granny folded her arms, snorting.

"But it's true!" insisted Belle, spreading her hands. "I know you don't believe me, I know no one in this _town_ will believe me, but I love him, and he loves me!"

"He's a pervert!" said Granny sharply.

"He _proposed_!" said Belle pleadingly, and she blinked rapidly.

"Dammit, that means _nothing_!" she snapped. "At least nothing but a string to keep you tied to him. You think he won't cut it the moment he gets bored?"

Belle raised her chin, hating the use of that word. _Bored._ It was too reminiscent of the terrible things he had said to her when he had tried to push her away, and although she now knew that he had been lying through his teeth, she never wanted to think of that dreadful night again if she could help it.

"We're moving to New York," she said, and her voice sounded ridiculously hopeful, almost chirpy, even to her own ears. Of course Granny wouldn't believe her. _No one_ would believe her.

"When I go to college, we're getting an apartment together," she added. "He's already applied for teaching jobs there."

Granny snorted.

"Girl, if you think he's gonna be teaching _anywhere_ after this you're an idiot!" she said witheringly. "It wouldn't surprise me if the sheriff already locked him up, and good riddance!"

"Well, there's no reason he should!" snapped Belle, losing patience. "Rum left the school in the summer. He hasn't been a teacher for _months_! There was _nothing_ wrong with what we were doing!"

"Oh really?" Granny folded her arms again, raising an eyebrow. "And just when did the two of you get together, hmm?"

Belle's mouth worked, and Granny nodded.

"I thought so," she said, her tone wintry. "God, I hope they lock him up and throw away the key!"

"They don't have any proof of anything!" said Belle stubbornly. " _No one_ does. I'm eighteen soon, and I can do whatever I want without the bloody town interfering!"

"And what about my feelings on the matter, young lady?" snapped Granny.

"Well, if all that's bothering you is that you think he doesn't care about me…"

"What's bothering me?" interrupted Granny. "Let's see. He's too old for you." She began counting on her fingers, glaring at Belle. "He was your teacher barely six months ago. He's too old for you. You lost your father only last year, and you _clearly_ haven't gotten over that. He's too old for you. You're still at school and you'll be going off to college and, oh yes, he's _too old for you_!"

"No he isn't!" snapped Belle, feeling mutinous.

"What can you possibly have in common?" demanded Granny.

Belle opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. She tried to vocalise her feelings, the depth of her love for him, the way he made her feel alive, and warm, and safe. The way she couldn't imagine ever wanting anyone else. All the many ways she loved him, and yet her mind was suddenly, desperately blank.

"We - um - we both like books!" she protested, wanting to cringe at the lame statement. "And - and walks in the forest, and cooking, and maybe one day I'll teach, like he does."

Granny snorted loudly.

"Oh, that doesn't _mean_ anything!"

"Well, I can't exactly tell you the rest of it," said Belle primly, blushing.

"No, please don't," whispered Ruby, and Granny glared at them both.

"I thought you girls had been raised better than this!" she snapped.

"Hey, what did _I_ do?" protested Ruby, pressing a hand to her heart.

"You should have told me!" said Granny fiercely. "If you were interested in protecting Belle, you should have told me. Or anyone else. The sheriff. The Principal. _Anyone_ that could have stopped him!"

"I _love_ him!" said Belle fiercely. "And I don't care what anyone else says!"

Granny opened her mouth for an angry retort, but the fight seemed to go out of her, and she sat down in one of the armchairs with a weary sigh, running a hand over her face.

"I blame myself," she said tiredly. "I knew you were keeping everything bottled up, but I thought if I left you to heal, things would work out for the best. I hadn't thought about that snake in a suit being there for you when I wasn't."

"But you _were_ there for me," insisted Belle. "You and Ruby both. I couldn't have gotten through this without you!"

Granny shook her head sadly.

"I promised your dad I'd take care of you," she said. "It's not even a year since he died, and I've already failed."

Ruby shared a troubled glance with Belle, and Belle sighed, squatting by Granny's chair and putting a hand over hers. Granny's skin was thin, stretched over the fragile finger bones and the bluish tracing of veins, softened by the lavender hand cream she used. Belle gave her what she hoped was a comforting squeeze.

"It's not your fault," she said gently. "You were so good to take me in, to treat me like one of the family. Please don't think I've done this out of any disrespect for you, Granny, it's just…" She cut off, feeling helpless. "I love him. I didn't mean for it to happen. _He_ didn't mean for it to happen, but we can't help it."

" _He_ could help it," said Granny sternly. "If he actually cared about you, he'd have ended it before it started."

"He tried," admitted Belle, remembering that awful time, something dark and bitter in the depths of her mind. "He tried, but it didn't work. And I'm glad. We did take a break, though. I took some time away from him, to heal. To be sure."

"Sure?" Granny laughed hollowly. "Sure of what? You think you'll both feel the same way in ten years' time?"

"Well, there are never any guarantees, are there?" acknowledged Belle. "But we're making plans, looking to the future. I can't imagine being with anyone else."

"Oh, Belle, honey!" sighed Granny. "I remember what it's like to think you're in love, to think it'll last forever. First love can make you think you'll never want another, but it's the sort of fire that burns bright and quick. This time next year you'll have moved on to someone your own age. Someone who's right for you."

"I don't _want_ someone my own age!" said Belle obstinately. "What does it matter? Age is just a number anyway!"

Granny groaned, rolling her eyes.

"Lord save me from naive girls without the sense they were born with!" she sighed, and pushed herself to her feet. "I'm going to bed. Maybe this is all a damn nightmare! We can talk more tomorrow when we've all calmed down."

She stomped towards the door, and Ruby and Belle shared an awkward look. The door slammed, and Belle sagged, covering her face with her hands. Ruby pulled her into a hug.

"She'll come around," she said. sounding as though it was the last thing she believed. "She'll have to, right? It's not like you guys are breaking up."

"I know," sighed Belle, leaning into Ruby and taking comfort from her warmth. "I just hate fighting with her. I don't want her to blame herself, and I hate that she's disappointed in me."

"It'll be okay," said Ruby soothingly. "Try not to worry."

Belle wanted to cry, and buried her face in Ruby's shoulder.

"The whole town knows, Rubes," she said, her voice muffled. "I don't know if I can bear it. The way they _looked_ at him!"

"He won't care," Ruby assured her. "You're eighteen soon, and no one can say anything. The whole town could be as hostile as fuck to him and he won't give a crap, and the two of you can move to New York in the summer and bang like bunnies."

Belle chuckled tearfully.

"Just make sure you get a two-bed apartment, so I can come and visit," added Ruby.

"I'll let him know," said Belle amused, and hugged her a little tighter. Ruby kissed the top of her head.

"You've gotten through worse things, sweetie," she said firmly. "And you can get through this, believe me. If anyone wants to give you a hard time, they'll have to come through me, okay?"

Belle nodded, pulling back and smiling up at her.

"I love you," she said. "And I love Granny, and I love Rum. If we can all get along, I don't care about the rest of it."

* * *

Gold was silent as the sheriff's car took him on the short ride to the station, and Jefferson was shooting him worried looks.

"What the _hell_ , man?" he whispered, and Gold shrugged.

"I know," he said quietly. "A moment of - recklessness."

"Recklessness isn't the word," said Jefferson, his tone dry. "Your life won't be the same, you know that, right? Whatever happens with you two, you'll be a pariah in this place."

Gold sighed. "Yes," he admitted. "It's the last thing I ever wanted, Jefferson. For her more than myself."

"So, what's your plan?" whispered Jefferson, and Gold squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

"We'll see what your boyfriend has to say first," he said grimly. "This isn't going to cause problems between you two, is it?"

"I hope not." Jefferson frowned at the back of Graham's head. "We'll see how much he wants to play the sheriff when we get home, I guess. And no, I didn't mean that in a kinky way."

Gold sighed again, but sat up a little as Graham slowed to a stop outside the station.

"Here we are, Mr Gold."

Graham opened the door for him, and Gold pushed himself upright with the help of his cane. He still had an awful, dull pain in his balls, and it was making it hard to think straight. His limp seemed very pronounced as they made their way into the sheriff's station, and Jefferson took his elbow to provide extra support as they mounted the few steps. Graham turned as they entered the main room, throwing his keys down on the desk.

"I'll see you at home," he said to Jefferson, who nodded, and leaned in to kiss him.

"Later," he confirmed, and patted Gold's shoulder, shooting him a sympathetic look.

Gold watched him go, then turned back to the sheriff.

"Am I under arrest?" he asked mildly.

"Not at the moment." said Graham. "Although you may find the cell a good refuge from the townsfolk. I imagine that a few of them may wish you harm for what they saw tonight."

Gold thought that perhaps he had a point, and frankly the cot in the cell wasn't any more uncomfortable than the rest of the chairs in the station, so he went inside and sat down. Graham locked the door, taking the key off the ring he held and passing it to Gold through the bars.

"You're not a prisoner," he said. "You can let yourself out any time, alright?"

"Alright." Gold tucked the key into his pocket, grounding his cane between his legs and folding his hands over the top of it. "Do I need a lawyer?"

Graham folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. "I suppose that all depends on what you tell me."

"I had sex with my girlfriend," said Gold, his voice cold. "We certainly didn't mean for the entire town to bear witness, but I'm not aware that any crime has been committed."

"And how old is Belle?" asked Graham.

"She'll be eighteen in December."

"So, seventeen then."

Gold's mouth thinned. "Again, not a crime."

"No," agreed Graham. "Not unless you were in a relationship with her while you were her teacher. I suppose it's fortunate that you left the school in the summer. How long have the two of you been dating?"

Gold smiled at him. "I don't believe I have to answer that. Considering that I haven't been arrested. Good of you to bring me here for my safety, though. I'm most grateful."

Graham gave him a long look, then shook his head.

"Fine," he sighed. "I have to go through some paperwork. I have to tell you that I'll be speaking to Belle, tomorrow, though. If there's anything you want to tell me, now's the time."

Gold's smile widened, but he remained silent, and Graham rolled his eyes.

"I'll be in my office," he muttered, and stomped off.

Gold let the tension drain out of him, his body sagging a little. He hoped that Belle was alright, and that Mrs Lucas wasn't upsetting her too much. He reached into his pocket for his phone, but then realised that she probably didn't want to hear from him quite yet. Perhaps in the morning. They would need to talk, to plan. Tingles of anxiety were already starting to needle at him; perhaps she would decide that the town's censure was too much. Perhaps she would want another break from what they had begun to build. He hoped not.

" _Where is he?"_

The sharp, furious voice of Regina Mills cut through the air in the station, and Gold sighed to himself as he heard the clacking of her heels draw closer. She rounded the corner, her eyes widening in outrage as she saw him.

"What the _hell_ , Gold?" she demanded, striding up to the cell. "Are you kidding me? You've been fucking Belle French, all this time? How _could_ you?"

"That's none of your business," he said coolly. "I haven't been an employee at the school for some months now, Ms Mills, as you're well aware. You have no say in how I conduct my life."

"Don't treat me like an idiot!" she shouted, dark eyes flashing. "I thought some time ago that she had a crush on you. I _warned_ you! I never expected you to use the ridiculous obsession of a vulnerable young girl to take advantage of her, you sick bastard!"

"Ms Mills!" Graham hurried over, holding up his hands. "Please! Mr Gold is cooperating with my enquiries and this investigation is ongoing. This isn't appropriate, and you know it."

Regina turned on him with a snarl, lip curling.

"Are you _serious_?" she snapped. "The entire _town_ saw him! The image is burned into my _brain_! What is there to investigate?"

"Miss French is over sixteen," said Graham patiently. "He hasn't technically broken any laws that we know of."

"Are you telling me you think that was the first time?" she demanded, putting fists on hips. "Miss French decided to lose her innocence to her ex-teacher under a stage at Miners' Day? Don't be an imbecile!"

"My private life is none of your concern," said Gold mildly, and she turned to grab the bars, shoving her face between them to glare at him.

"The safety and protection of my students is _always_ my concern!" she hissed. "If you think I'm gonna stand by and have you make me look incompetent…"

"Ah, and that's what this is about, isn't it?" he interrupted. "Your precious reputation."

"If you think it's _my_ reputation on the line, Gold, you're as much of an idiot as the sheriff!" she snapped.

"Ms Mills!" Graham appeared to have lost patience. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Regina ignored him, still staring at Gold with hostility in her eyes, and he met her gaze.

"This isn't over, Gold," she said ominously.

"I'd be disappointed if it were," he said, showing his teeth.

She whirled away, almost bristling with rage, and he watched her go, feeling despondent. No doubt her reaction was similar to how the rest of the town would act.

* * *

Graham asked him a few more questions about his relationship with Belle, but Gold refused to answer, withdrawing into himself, and after a while the sheriff sighed and said he had nothing further. Several of the townsfolk had visited, yelling insults at him through the bars just as Regina had, and he was forced to concede that Graham's idea of putting him in the cell was a good one. For one, it seemed to suggest that he had actually been arrested, and the majority of the Storybrooke residents calmed down when they saw him sitting on the cot behind steel bars. It also meant that there were no attempts at physical violence that he was forced to counter with his cane. The attacks remained verbal only, and even those trailed off when Graham threatened to lock a drunk Tom Clark in the cell next to Gold's if he didn't stop yelling.

As the clock ticked towards midnight, Graham announced that it was all quiet outside, and probably safe for him to leave.

"I may have more questions for you once I've spoken to Belle," he warned. "And I think it's safe to say you'll have to put up with more hostility from the town."

"Undoubtedly," said Gold dryly. "I couldn't give a fuck, personally, but I appreciate the warning. Goodnight to you, Sheriff."

"Goodnight, Mr Gold."

Gold made his way home through the deserted streets, thinking about what his next move would be. There had been a hurried message from Belle on his phone; she assured him that she was alright, and that she loved him, but that she didn't know what to do. He considered calling her back, but it was late, and so he simply sent her a message telling her that he loved her and would see her in the morning. They needed to present a united front, and face things together, not hide away as though they were ashamed. He nodded to himself as he turned into the street on which his house stood. The road was dark apart from the glow from the streetlamp, and he almost didn't see the word sprayed in red paint down the side of his car.

 _PERVERT_

Gold felt his jaw clench, breath hissing out through his nose as his anger flared. This was just the beginning.

* * *

He slept poorly, and made his way outside early the next morning to clean off the red paint, having first taken some pictures of the vandalism to give to the sheriff. He had spent most of the night fluctuating between anxiety over his relationship with Belle, and anger towards the rest of Storybrooke. By the time that dawn broke, however, he had calmed somewhat, and he had decided how he wanted to proceed. If Belle was in agreement.

Having cleaned off the red paint, he showered and dressed carefully in a three-piece suit, silk shirt and tie, the unrelieved black broken only by a gold tie pin and pocket watch, its chain gleaming in tiny, perfect links. His reflection stared back at him, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a thin smile. Time to do battle.

He decided to drive into town, and parked up outside the diner, walking around the side to the entrance to the inn. A small brass bell sat on the counter, and he tapped it with the flat of his hand, the cheerful _ping_ echoing around the small reception area. There was the sound of footsteps, and he squared his shoulders as Mrs Lucas came bustling into the reception. Her eyes narrowed as she recognised him, her nostrils flaring, the gold chain swinging from her spectacles seeming to quiver with her outrage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" she demanded.

"I came to talk to you," said Gold calmly. "And to Belle."

"You're not welcome in this house!" she hissed, leaning on the reception desk, and Gold flicked his hair back.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," he said, in a bored voice. "Feel free to ignore me, but you're an intelligent woman. You know we'll have to talk at some point."

"Granny." Belle appeared at her elbow, meeting Gold's eyes. She looked tired. "Granny, please. Let him in."

Growling something under her breath about not having a gelding knife to hand, Granny stomped back through into the lounge, and Belle and Gold shared a brief glance before following. He cast his eyes around the room as he entered, having never been in there before. It seemed comfortable enough, if a little chintzy for his tastes. Granny was standing in the middle of the patterned rug, hands by her sides and fists clenched, as though she were thinking about punching him again. He suspected she was. Belle was off to the side, arms folded around herself protectively. He wondered where the fiery Miss Lucas was, and then saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye as she hurried into the room and stood at Belle's side.

"I'm surprised you've got the nerve to show your face in here after what you did," snapped Granny, and Gold showed his teeth.

"Then you don't know me very well," he said. "I'm not ashamed of whom I love, thank you."

"Well, you should be!" she said angrily. "Walking around this town like you own it! How _dare_ you come into my house!"

"I won't take up too much of your time," he said, looking at his fingernails. "I thought it best to state my intentions, so that there can be no confusion over what's going to happen here."

"Your _intentions_?" she sneered. "Oh, I think we all know what your _intentions_ are, you snake!"

"Clearly not," he said, in a wry tone. "So let me be explicit. I love Belle, I fully intend to make a life with her, and I'd like her to move in with me."

Belle sucked in air, a tiny gasp of surprise, and Granny's eyebrows drew down.

"Over my dead body!" she snapped.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," he said dryly. "I mean, she _could_ stay here with you, but we both know that won't make the town talk any less. Rightly or wrongly, they'll be judging your guardianship of her just as much as they'll judge my behaviour. If she moves in with me, that goes away."

"You can't be serious!" said Granny disbelievingly. "You think her moving in with you will make the gossip stop?"

"Oh, they can talk all they like behind their hands about me, I couldn't care less," said Gold, waving a hand. "But it should at least stop them talking about you, and Miss Lucas. If it's clear that we want to be together properly, it may seem less - sordid, which will no doubt take the fun out of it for some of them."

"He has a point…" ventured Ruby, and Granny glared at her until she dropped her eyes and shuffled her feet.

"Belle was planning on coming to me in the New Year anyway," added Gold. "This just speeds things up by a few weeks."

Granny rounded on Belle. "Is this true?"

"Yes." Belle lifted her chin. "I had planned to tell you after Christmas."

"I don't _believe_ this!"

Granny began pacing back and forth across the rug, and Gold waited patiently, sensing that she was thinking hard. Eventually she stopped, straightening up and eyeing Belle and Ruby.

"Girls, go upstairs," she ordered. "I need to speak to this - this - I need to speak to Mr Gold alone."

Ruby and Belle shared a worried glance, their eyes flicking to him briefly before they shuffled out of the room, Ruby closing the door behind them with a loud click. He wondered if they'd listen at it. Granny turned to face him, eyes flashing with anger.

"I don't understand why the hell you aren't in jail," she said menacingly.

"Mostly because there's no evidence of a crime having been committed beyond the salacious imaginings of the residents of this town," he said. "Sorry to disappoint you, but the sheriff had nothing to arrest me for. Your assault on me was however witnessed by many. You'll no doubt be relieved to know that I won't be pressing charges."

"Don't you threaten me!" she snapped. "You and I both know that your relationship with Belle is anything but innocent."

"You and I both know that there's no proof of that," he said coldly. "You have nothing but supposition and lurid speculation. Forget the criminal charges you want to throw at me, it's a non-starter."

"You disgust me!" she said witheringly, and he shrugged.

"No doubt many share that view," he conceded. "I really don't care. I'm here to talk about Belle's future, not your low opinion of me."

"If you cared about her future at all, you'd take yourself out of her life!" snapped Granny, and he bowed his head.

"I did," he admitted. "I did pull back. As did she. And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," she echoed. "A beautiful young girl with her whole life ahead of her, and a man old enough to be her father who can't even walk. What the hell do you have to offer her?"

Her words pierced and stung, boring down to the heart of him, to the depths of his soul where his insecurities fed on his own self-loathing. _Nothing. I can offer her nothing._

"She loves me," he said eventually. "For reasons I haven't been able to explain, she loves me. As I love her. If you want to be more practical about it, I have a lot of money, and she'll want for nothing."

"No fool like an old fool," she said witheringly, and he shrugged.

There was silence for a moment, and he studied the polished toes of his shoes, listening to Granny's breathing, heavy with fury and emotion. Eventually he looked up.

"I'm aware of what you've done for Belle over the years," he said calmly. "And the way you took her in after her father died. I respect that. I have no desire to fight with you or to cause a rift between the two of you."

She folded her arms across her chest.

"You think I'd turn my back on that poor girl just because I don't agree with her choices?" she demanded. "Don't be an ass! She will _always_ have my support!"

"Then perhaps you should allow her to make her own decisions," he suggested, and she glared at him.

"She's still seventeen!"

"Barely," he observed. "By all means allow her to turn eighteen first, but you know as well as I that it won't stop us having a relationship. At least if she moves in with me you won't have to put up with me coming here to see her."

"I already told you, you are not welcome in this house!"

"Then she'll simply defy you, and spend her nights at _my_ house," he drawled. "She's done so before, you know. She's sneaked out of this place in the middle of the night and run across Storybrooke to get in my bed, and you had no idea. Do you honestly think you'll stop her from having what she wants?"

Granny clenched her fists, her cheeks reddening with anger.

"Why, you disgusting, perverse, morally-bankrupt…"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure there are many insults you'd like to throw my way," he interrupted. "No doubt the town will agree with you. The feeling that you may be encouraging our relationship can't be good for business, I imagine. If Belle moves out of here, and in with me, you'll have them back on side again, united in your loathing of me."

"What about what _she_ wants?" she snapped, and he shrugged, noting with interest that she was no longer stating that what he was proposing was impossible.

"It's her choice, of course," he said. "I'm merely making the offer. The decision rests with her. We'll be planning our future together."

"Oh, the two of you can't have a _future_!" She began to pace again, glowering at him over the top of her glasses. "She's going to college next year, unless you're planning on keeping her from doing that."

"On the contrary, I'm intending to rent an apartment in New York for the two of us," he said. "I'm a teacher, for God's sake. I want her to fulfil her academic potential just as much as you."

"Well, what if she gets pregnant?" demanded Granny.

"She takes a birth control shot," he said.

"Oh, those things aren't always a hundred percent!" she snapped, waving a hand.

"Then unless you're expecting her to stay celibate all through college, you'd have the same worry no matter who she was with!" he said impatiently. "I don't have some sort of superhuman sperm, you know!"

Granny's eyes bulged in outrage. "Well, of all the…"

"If Belle were to fall pregnant, we'd discuss the matter, and agree on the next step to take," he interrupted. "We already planned on getting married. I'd happily stay at home to raise any child we had so that she wouldn't miss out on college, but that's a problem we simply don't have right now."

"She said you proposed." Granny snorted in derision. "Ridiculous!"

"Sincere." He shifted his feet a little, meeting her eyes. "Like it or not, I really do love her. I hope you can come to accept that, because we're going to be together, and I want to make her happy."

"If you had a shred of decency you'd get out of her life and never come back!" she said fiercely.

"Never gonna happen," he said, his voice calm.

There was silence once more, and he sighed.

"I don't expect you to give me your blessing," he said. "I came to tell you how I feel, and to say that I think Belle should move in with me. That's all."

"Oh, get out!" she spat. "You've said your piece, I don't want to hear another word!"

"I'll go," he agreed. "But please consider what I've said."

"Out!"

He shrugged, turning away, and made his way from the lounge and back into the small reception of the inn. The morning air was very cold on his face as he walked around to the car, but there were townsfolk scuttling to and from the diner, bundled in thick coats and scarves to keep out the biting wind. He ignored the hostile looks being thrown his way, the muttered insults. They could all go fuck themselves. He was done feeling guilty for falling in love.


	33. Vengeance

**A/N: this is the last chapter before the epilogue I have planned. I've loved writing this fic so much!**

* * *

Granny spent the whole of Sunday stomping around the place, banging pots and snapping at the staff, but the diner had been quiet, with perhaps a quarter of its usual custom. It appeared that Gold's assessment of the feelings of the townsfolk was correct, and Belle felt awful about it. Granny had tried to talk her into ending things again, or at least into waiting a year or two before deciding her future, but Belle was determined.

"Rum's right," she insisted that evening, when Granny tried to wave away the fact that the diner had been so quiet. "People are going to shun this place as long as I'm here, whether it's a conscious thing or not. It's better that I leave."

"Would you please just wait a few weeks?" begged Granny, bustling after her as Belle carried a pile of clothes over to the bed and began folding them into her suitcase. "At least until you're eighteen?"

"What difference would it make?" asked Belle wearily. "You've already done so much for me, and I won't stay here if it's hurting your business."

"Oh, the town'll get over it!" said Granny impatiently. "I'm more worried about you. This is a big decision to make, girl! Leaving aside the fact that he's old enough to be your father!"

Belle put down the dress she had been folding, and turned with a tired smile.

"It's a decision I made a long time ago," she said gently. "This isn't a spur of the moment thing. It's been our plan since the summer. All we're doing is bringing things forward by a few weeks, that's all."

Granny opened and closed her mouth, looking upset, and Belle took her hands.

"I'm so sorry," she said earnestly. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry that the town seems to be blaming you for my choices. Please, Granny, it's nothing that you did or didn't do. This was always going to happen." She closed her eyes briefly, swallowing hard. "I know I don't deserve it," she added. "But - but I hope - in a few years, maybe - I hope that maybe you'll give me your support."

Granny sighed, and pulled her into a crushing hug, smothering her with softness and the scent of lavender.

"You'll always have my support," she said gruffly. "Can't say the same about _him,_ but you'll always have a place here, honey. I need you to know that. Don't ever feel that you can't come home, you hear me?"

"Thank you." Belle's voice was muffled by Granny's bosom. "That means a lot, really."

They hugged for a few moments more, and then Belle pulled back with a sigh.

"When will you go?" asked Granny, her face troubled, and Belle shifted awkwardly as she turned back to her packing.

"Tomorrow," she said, wincing a little at the tiny noise of exasperation from behind her.

"You know how your school friends are going to react?" asked Granny, and Belle winced further.

"They'll deal, or they'll have to go through me," said Ruby, appearing in the doorway, and Belle shot her a grateful look. "I'm thinking it'll mainly be snickering behind hands and a few snide comments. There'll be the odd moron I have to have words with, of course…"

"I didn't want any of this," whispered Belle, feeling awful, and Ruby shrugged.

"Don't worry, sweetie, we can handle it," she said firmly. "I won't stand for my best girl getting shit from any of those assholes."

"No cursing!" snapped Granny, and Ruby blushed.

"Just saying," she muttered.

* * *

Monday morning dawned, bright, crisp and very cold, the winter sun sparkling off the frozen ground. It was the sort of day that Belle loved, and seemed in odd contrast to the heavy, stormy atmosphere at the inn. She had packed a case, which contained most of her clothes, and a few favourite books. Granny had told her that she could leave whatever she wanted at the inn.

"It's your room," she had said firmly. "It'll always be here for you, whenever you want to come back."

Belle had thanked her, even though she had no intention of going back except to collect the rest of her things. Gold was to come for her that evening, and Granny was already working herself up about it. Belle had tentatively suggested calling a cab, to avoid the confrontation, but Granny's brows had drawn down above her gold-rimmed glasses, giving her a hawk-like expression.

"If he wants to steal you out from under my roof, he can damn well come here and look me in the eye!" she had snapped, and Belle had sighed and nodded.

It felt strange, walking to school as though it were a normal day, the ice crunching under her boots and her bag of books hugged against her chest like a shield. Ruby was wearing a bright red padded jacket over black skinny jeans and chunky boots, a red beret that matched her lipstick pulled down over her dark hair. She seemed a creature of fire and heat against the backdrop of frozen white and the dark, frost-rimed trunks of evergreens. Belle had dressed to match her mood, in a black dress and thick tights beneath her dark blue coat, a black cloche hat pulled down over her ears. She wanted nothing more than to fade into the background, but she suspected that the other students wouldn't allow her to.

She sighed, wishing the school year was over and she could move away. Today would be the worst, of course, she was prepared for that. Or perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps the town would think of her as the victim, as the young girl seduced by a predator. Perhaps she would be met with sympathy and soft voices, as she had when her father had died and no one seemed to know what to say to her. She thought that would almost be worse. Imagining their reactions when they found out she and Gold were living together, and how they would treat him, made her stomach clench with anxiety. Still, at least it meant that they could face the town together to see out the school year, when they could turn their backs on it forever. At least nothing would be hidden.

She was getting annoyed with herself for going over everything in her mind for the hundredth time, and she tried to think about anything but her relationship and the likely reaction of her fellow students. Ruby had gotten them coffees, the cardboard cups providing a little warmth to gloved hands, and Belle breathed in the rich scent as they walked, steam rising up out of the tiny holes in the plastic takeout lids.

"We can still have sleepovers, right?" ventured Ruby. "I mean, I doubt Granny'll let me stay over with you and Gold, because her opinion of him is - well, you know…"

"That he's a proven Seducer Of The Innocent and God only knows what devilish scheme he has planned for the rest of the town's girls?" said Belle dryly.

"I didn't say it was a _sensible_ opinion," muttered Ruby, and Belle shoved her gently with a shoulder.

"I'm teasing. Sorry, I'm just…" She sighed again. "Stress levels are at a hundred percent right now. If I come across as a bitch at any point this week I don't mean it, I swear."

"I get it." Ruby nudged her in return. "If you're being a bitch I'll tell you. So - about the sleepovers?"

"I'd love to come over for girls' night." She chewed her lip, casting Ruby an anxious look. "How did Emma and Mary take it?"

Ruby wrinkled her nose, the fog of her breath snatched away by the breeze.

"Kind of disbelief on Mary's part, even though she saw you with your legs practically around his neck," she said. "Emma swore a lot. I think they'll be okay. They're kinda weirded out, though."

"Hmm."

Belle was despondent, and it must have shown on her face, because Ruby turned a little so that she was facing her and walking backwards, her dark eyes wide and compassionate.

"I've had a lot longer to get used to the idea," she said gently. "And when I found out the first thing I did was knee him in the balls, so they're doing better than me."

Belle barked a tiny, harsh laugh.

"Assuming Emma doesn't brain him with a snow shovel I'll call it a win," she said, and Ruby chuckled and fell into step beside her again.

Belle sipped at her coffee, feeling morose, and they rounded the school gates, heading across to the main doors. Small groups of students were dotted around, braving the biting wind to talk and drink coffee and cocoa in the freezing air. Their conversations hushed as she drew near, and she pushed her chin into her scarf, wishing she didn't feel so exposed. There was a burst of laughter from a group containing Gaston and some of his friends, and panic flared in her chest, stealing her breath. She wanted to run.

"Almost there," said Ruby calmly, seeming to sense her distress. "Just take it easy."

"Hey, Belle!" shouted Gaston, his deep voice making her cringe with its harshness. "You gonna bang Jekyll next? Guy looks like he could use it! Might put him in a good mood for the rest of us, know what I'm saying?"

"A night of hot sex and solid orgasms wouldn't stop him failing _your_ deadbeat ass!" shouted Ruby, and he scowled, thick eyebrows curling.

"Shut the fuck up, Lucas! At least now we know why she's been such an uptight bitch with the rest of us!"

Ruby growled as Gaston's friends sniggered and laughed, and he seemed to bask in the attention.

"All this time I thought she was frigid, and she's banging an old guy!" he added triumphantly, his eyes glinting with malice. "A guy who can't even _walk_ properly. What's the matter, French? He the only one who couldn't get away from you?"

"God, you're such a piece of shit!" said Ruby scornfully, as Belle dropped her eyes, her cheeks burning.

"Well, why the hell else would she fuck a cripple?" he demanded, shrugging wide shoulders. "Gotta be desperation, right?"

"Yeah, weird that." Ruby's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "No one'll screw _you_ because they want a man who actually knows what to do with that thing between his legs. Maybe you should get a manual or something. Assuming you can read."

Gaston's scowl deepened. "Fuck you, whore!"

"Not if my life depended on it," said Ruby witheringly. "Besides, I'd need a pair of tweezers and a microscope to fucking find your dick!"

Gaston's friends were still snickering, but at him now, and his face turned an alarming shade of purple.

"Rubes, let's just go," whispered Belle, tugging at her, and Ruby sniffed, turning away with a toss of her dark hair as Gaston's insults followed them.

"God, I hate this!" said Belle wretchedly. "I just want this day to be over!"

"Try not to let it get to you," said Ruby, as they passed a group of girls in the year below them. The girls started whispering amongst themselves, smirking and giggling. Gold's name was mentioned, and Belle's face went pink. They quickened their pace, Ruby's arm a comforting weight around her.

 _"Slut!"_ came a voice, the word clear, drawn out and contemptuous, and Ruby spun on her toes, fury in her eyes as she looked around for who had spoken.

"Come here and say that to my fucking face!" she shouted, and Belle grasped at her hand.

"Forget it," she muttered. "It's what everyone's thinking. The ones that don't feel sorry for me, anyway."

"They're fucking idiots!" fumed Ruby, dark eyes flashing with anger. "Like they're so innocent, I _don't_ think!"

"Doubt they screwed a teacher," said Belle gloomily, and Ruby sniffed, tossing her hair.

"They'll have moved onto something else by next week," she said, with a certainty that Belle didn't feel. "You just have to keep going and try to ignore them. I'll fight anyone that needs it."

Belle sighed, hugging her books tighter, and ducked through the doors behind Ruby, wishing the school day was over. They walked quickly to class, Belle keeping her eyes on the ground and Ruby marching in front of her with her head up, fierce as a warrior queen. Her bright red jacket and beret drew students' eyes long enough for Belle to sneak along behind her without attracting too much attention, and they got to class without further incident. They slipped into their usual seats behind Emma and Mary, who turned around to face them as Belle busied herself getting out her books. Mary looked awkward, shooting glances at Belle and brushing her short hair back off her forehead, and Emma was eyeing her cautiously.

"You okay?" she asked, and Belle nodded.

"You - er - want to talk about it?"

"Not right now," said Belle, and Emma nodded. Mary squeezed her shoulder sympathetically, and Belle sent them both a wan smile. Perhaps her friends, at least, would be accepting.

* * *

Her day didn't improve. Students whispered behind their hands whenever she approached, and even the teachers were looking at her askance, most with something like sympathy in their eyes. By the time the bell rang for lunch she couldn't bear it any longer, and hurried to the library, where she could at least be assured of solitude. She heaved a sigh of relief as she saw that it was empty, the familiar scent of books making her smile. Dust motes danced in the air as she threw her bag onto a desk, and she sat down to eat the bagel that she hadn't been able to finish at breakfast. She was hungry, but the thought of facing a packed cafeteria made her shudder. She pulled a book from the nearest shelf, nibbling on the bagel, and settled back to wait out the lunch break.

Her peace was undisturbed by any unexpected visitors to the library, and by the end of the hour she was feeling a little more relaxed. Her anxiety started to rise again as she realised that she would need to face another class or two before she could leave for the day, and she sighed, uncurling herself from the chair in which she was nestled, and putting her book back on the shelf. She peered out of the doors cautiously, but the corridors were still empty, and she hoped to be able to get to her class before the rest of the students. Perhaps, if she kept her head down, she could get through the rest of the day without feeling like a freak. She scurried along, past rows of lockers, her eyes on the floor, and almost bit her tongue as she rounded the corner and crashed into a large, solid presence. Letting out a squeak of alarm, she reeled backwards, almost stumbling, and raised her eyes to see the grinning face of Mr Nottingham, the Phys Ed teacher. He was looming over her, his dark hair falling over his eyes in a way that she suspected he thought was irresistible.

"S-sorry," she stammered, and made to duck past him, but he moved just enough to block her way, forcing her to step back.

"Well, well," he drawled. "The lovely Miss Belle French. Always looking so innocent, like such a good little girl. I always thought there was a vibe about you."

Belle shrank back, casting her eyes about, but the corridors were still empty.

"I - I have to get to class…" she began.

"Oh, you can be a little late," he said easily. "Besides, aren't you a senior? Not like there's anything more they can teach you, right? I guess you're more interested in life experience now."

He grinned at her, reaching up to press the flat of his hand against the wall to her right, his arm barring her way out. Belle licked her lips nervously, and wanted to scream when his eyes dropped to her mouth.

"So, I hear you like an older man," he said. "Nothing to be ashamed of; a lot of girls your age need a little more - support. Understanding. Teenage boys aren't that great at empathising, you know?"

"I - I really have to go," she whispered, wanting to shrink in on herself, and he put his head to the side, trying to catch her eyes.

"I'm in the Rabbit Hole most weekends," he added. "Next time you're in there - well, we could talk about anything that's troubling you. Bring your friend, if you like."

"I don't think so," she said, shifting from foot to foot as she tried to think of a way to get past him that didn't involve screaming until he left.

"Well, at least tell me you'll think about it," he said, still smiling. "You got some - issues - that need working out, I'm only too happy to help."

"Mr Nottingham!"

Principal Mills's stern voice made him push away from her immediately, and Belle almost sagged with relief. Ms Mills stalked into view, heels clicking, almost bristling with anger, dark eyes flashing.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked coldly, and he tried for a charming smile that slipped a little at her furious glare.

"I - I was just consoling Miss French, here," he said. "Seems like she was having a hard time. You know how kids can be."

"Well, I very much doubt she wants consolation from you," snapped Ms Mills, and glanced at Belle. "Please go to my office, dear. I've been meaning to have a word with you about something. I won't be a moment."

Belle nodded and slipped out, a mixture of relief and trepidation making her heart thump. She scurried along the corridor, casting a brief glance at the door to what was now Dr Jekyll's office, that same room where this had all started, what seemed like a lifetime ago. The Principal's office was large and warm, heated by thick metal radiators. She went to stand by one of them, holding out chilled hands. She could hear the sound of Ms Mills's heels growing closer, and she straightened up just as the Principal walked in, her dark hair swishing as she shut the door and turned to Belle with her fists on her hips.

"So," she said, in clipped tones. "How long has this been going on?"

"What? Belle shook her head. "Oh, he was just - well, to be honest he was creeping me out, but there wasn't anything…"

"Not _Nottingham_ ," said Ms Mills sharply. _"Gold."_

Belle ducked her head. "I'd rather not discuss my personal life," she muttered.

"Did _he_ tell you to say that?"

"No, it's just…" Belle opened and closed her mouth. "We didn't intend for it to come out the way it did."

"I imagine not," she said dryly, folding her arms. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to believe that was the first time?"

"I never said it was," said Belle, lifting her chin a little.

"So how long?"

She was staring at Belle, as though the intensity of her gaze would make her speak, and Belle stared back, tightening her jaw. Ms Mills sighed.

"Belle, I'm trying to protect you," she said patiently. "I want to help, don't you see that?"

"I don't need protecting," said Belle mutinously. "Not from him, anyway."

"I'm responsible for all my students," she went on. "And that means dealing with any threats to their wellbeing."

"Then I guess Mr Nottingham's days are numbered, right?"

Ms Mills rolled her eyes, pursing dark red lips.

"If he bothers you again, please come and see me," she said. "If I'm to take any action, I need evidence."

"Which is what you don't have on Rum," said Belle, her tone wry. "And you're expecting _me_ to give it to you? I already told you, I'm not talking about my relationship, it's no one's business!"

"The safety of students _is_ my business," said Ms Mills sternly. "This school is…"

"He's not a teacher," interrupted Belle. "I appreciate you worrying about me, Principal Mills, I really do, but he doesn't work here, and I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"Belle, I know I can't force you to…"

"No," agreed Belle. "You can't."

Ms Mills sighed deeply, running a hand over her face.

"May I go?" asked Belle. "I'll be late for class."

"Fine," she said, glancing over. "But anytime you want to talk, or you need help, my door's open."

"Thank you."

She slipped out of the door and back down the corridor towards class, cringing as she was swept up in a sea of students hurrying to their lessons. There was a brief moment of blissful anonymity as she formed part of the throng, but then she ducked out and grasped a door handle, and a moment later she was in the relative quiet of her History class. She pushed the door shut, her shoulders prickling as she felt eyes on her. Mr Short was bustling around the room, a small, white-haired man with a distracted look in his pale blue eyes behind glasses that seemed permanently smudged. He acknowledged her with a nod and a brief smile as he handed back the homework from the previous week.

"Take a seat, Belle," he said.

He was the only one not to have stared at her today, and she suspected he'd forgotten the Miners' Day debacle, absent-minded as he was. She hurried to sit by Ruby, who patted her knee beneath the table. Mr Short launched into a recap of what they had covered in the previous lesson, and Belle opened her books. A ball of paper landed in front of her as she was putting pens and pencils on the desk, and she frowned.

"Leave it!" whispered Ruby, but Belle squared her jaw, teasing apart the scrunched up paper. The note was written in spiky black marker. _Bet he likes to spank u!_

She looked up, humiliation turning quickly to anger, and Gaston was grinning at her, waggling his eyebrows and leering. Ruby scrunched the paper back up into a tight ball and fired it at him, hitting him on the ear.

"Fuck!" he spat, and the class sniggered.

"Yes, _thank you_!" snapped Mr Short, snatching up the ball of paper before Gaston could grab it. "At least _try_ to act like an adult, Miss Lucas!"

Ruby squeaked indignantly, but he had already turned away and opened out the paper. He rolled his eyes as he read its contents.

"And try to keep your private life _outside_ the classroom, Mr Gaston," he added dryly. "No one wants to hear about your boyfriend spanking you."

The class burst into collective laughter, and Gaston spluttered with indignation. Belle giggled, sharing an amused glance with Ruby before turning to her books. At least some people didn't seem to care what she did. Mr Short began busying himself with writing on the whiteboard, and the class began chatting quietly. The sound of Gold's name, followed by whispered speculation of what he might do with his cane, made her look up sharply, her face reddening. Some of the girls were looking at her with glinting eyes, whispering behind their hands and nodding, and she felt the smile drain from her face, her good mood evaporating.

"Ignore them," whispered Ruby, and she nodded, swallowing hard.

 _Screw them. Screw them all._

* * *

It was a relief when the final bell rang. Belle gathered her books, shoving them in her bag and ignoring the rest of the class apart from her friends. Emma and Mary loitered in the doorway, waiting for them, and Ruby handed Belle her coat and straightened her red beret.

"What time is he coming over?" she asked quietly, and Belle shrugged.

"I don't know," she admitted, buttoning her coat. "We hadn't agreed a time. I guess I should call him."

"Wait until we get back, at least," said Ruby. "I'm guessing you just want to get out of here, huh?"

Belle turned with an expression of dry amusement as they headed for the door.

"Before I lose my temper and punch someone, you mean?" she said, and Ruby shrugged, grinning. "I won't. I might _want_ to, but I won't."

"Well, at least you're angry instead of upset, right?" said Emma, and Belle sighed.

"Oh, I'm upset too, I'm just sick of people judging me - judging _us_ \- when they don't even know me!"

"Honestly Belle, it's kind of a shock to those of us that _do_ know you," said Emma reasonably. "They'll get used to it eventually. Just ignore the trolls."

Grumbling under her breath, Belle shouldered her bag of books and stomped out after them. Ruby took one side of her, Emma the other, with Mary trailing behind a little.

"Hey Belle, does Gold need Viagra to get it up?" shouted a voice from behind her, and Belle growled.

"Ignore them," said Ruby again. "Come on, let's go."

They followed the trail of students out of the side doors and onto the yard. Belle squinted in the orange light of the winter sun, sinking towards the horizon.

"I don't _get_ it," came a snide female voice to the side. "I mean she's not even that pretty, but _him_? Oh, unless it's the money, I guess."

Ruby whirled on her toes.

"Go fuck yourself!" she snapped.

Belle didn't know who had spoken, and found that she didn't especially care. Her head was filled with a red roaring that was blocking out everything else, her body almost humming with anger. They turned towards the main gates, and Ruby's sharp intake of breath made her look up.

Gold was standing just outside the gates, his feet planted hip width apart and his cane grounded in front of him, leather-clad hands folded over the top. His hair was fluttering a little in the light breeze, and students gave him a wide berth, staring a little too long as they passed. He was dressed once again in unrelieved black, framed by his wool overcoat, a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses keeping the sun's glare from his eyes, and Belle felt her heart leap at the sight of him. She shoved her bag of books at Ruby, her breath quickening.

"Hold my bag," she muttered, and stalked across the schoolyard, ignoring the sniggers and whispers of those around her.

He watched her approach, the corner of his mouth twisting in that tiny smile she loved, and she raised her head proudly, her pace quickening until she was standing right in front of him, her breath coming hard in her chest.

"I thought you might need a ride," he said, and she threw herself on him, making him stumble before he caught himself. She kissed him messily as one of his hands sank into her hair, arms going around him and pulling him against her, and he opened his mouth to taste her, making a contented sound. Belle stroked her tongue in and out of his mouth, her lips pulling at his, and he sighed as she gave him a final kiss and leaned back. The yard around them had gone silent.

"Well well," he whispered. "Miss me?"

"More than you know," she breathed, and he grinned, nuzzling her nose with his.

"I thought I'd take you to the inn," he said. "Miss Lucas too, of course."

"And then can I get my things?" she asked, stroking the lapels of his overcoat. "Can we - can we go to _your_ place?"

He kissed her forehead, his lips warm against her skin.

"No," he said. "We can go to ours."

She kissed him again, pressing herself against his body, feeling his fingers tangle in her hair, his tongue stroking gently before she pulled back, glancing over her shoulder to jerk her head at Ruby to follow. Gold took her hand in a firm grip, walking calmly from the gates to where the car sat, gleaming darkly in the setting sun, waiting to carry her to his home. To _their_ home. Smiling at him, her heart swelling with love, she turned her back on the school, on its students, and on another chapter of her life.


	34. Love

**A/N: This has taken me a long time to write, mostly because I didn't want to finish it, so my muse hid in a cupboard.**

 **I have loved writing this fic. Even in the early days when it made me so uncomfortable I wanted to scream. Through all the tears and capslock rants left in my inbox. Through all the times I was screaming at the computer as I typed. I learned so much from doing this, and I'm kind of emotional that it's all over. I hope you've enjoyed it too.**

 **Time to give these two dorks their happy ending.**

* * *

Three years later...

* * *

Belle trotted up the steps of the apartment block, a lightness in her chest that didn't only come from the end of finals. They would be going back to Storybrooke - going _home_ \- for their first proper visit since Christmas. Four whole weeks in the pink house that she had grown to love so much before they had left for New York. Dinner with Carella and Ursula, with Jefferson and Graham. Girls' nights out with Ruby and her other friends, and lazy days and nights at the cabin. She loved New York, and their apartment overlooking the park, but it was nice to get away from the crowds and noise to familiar places and the sleepy quiet of their small-town home.

Closing the door against the midday brightness of the summer sun, she trotted up the three flights of stairs to their apartment, bidding a cheerful good day to a passing neighbour. Anton was a gentle giant with a bristling beard, a vegetarian who grew his own herbs, peppers and onions on his balcony, and Belle and Gold had been invited to dinner more than once. She had been surprised by how accepting New Yorkers had been of their relationship; really, only old Mrs O'Leary down the hall had seemed to care that he was so much older, but she had been fine with it after they got married, and even offered to feed the cats whenever they were out of town for a few days.

Flourishing her set of keys, she unlocked the door to their apartment and breezed inside.

"I'm back!" she called, and there were two soft thumps from the lounge, making her grin. Twin grey cats with amber eyes trotted through with tails curled over, issuing a little _prrp_ of greeting, and she bent to scratch their ears. Oscar and Tabitha were brother and sister, almost two years old now, and very affectionate. They would be travelling to Storybrooke as well, and she hoped the wildlife around the house and cabin wouldn't suffer too much from their presence.

"Hey."

Gold's voice made her look around, and she grinned as he appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

"Hey," she said, trotting over. "Are you ready?"

"Just giving the place a once-over." He leaned in to kiss her. "How did it go?"

"Okay, I think," she said, slipping her arms around him. "I answered all the questions, anyway, which is as much as I can do."

"You'll have done brilliantly, as ever," he said gently, and kissed her forehead before pulling away and grasping his cane from where it leant against the door jamb.

"What about you?" She followed him into the kitchen, watching as he hung the damp dishtowel on a little hook by the sink. "Any news?"

Gold's face tightened a little, but he smiled at her.

"Yes, I had some news," he admitted. "The school called. Turns out the position had already been filled, and there was some sort of administrative mix-up."

"Again?" said Belle flatly, folding her arms. "Let me guess, they got an anonymous call from out of the blue, informing them that you left Storybrooke with a former student 'under a cloud of suspicion'?"

He ran a hand through his hair, wincing a little.

"They didn't say as much," he said. "But it seems rather a coincidence that every job I've been offered somehow falls through at the last minute."

"I don't believe in coincidences, and neither do you," she said with a sniff, irritated, and he sighed and put his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Let's not think about it now," he said. "We have Storybrooke to look forward to. Four weeks of Mrs Lucas glaring at your deadbeat husband."

Belle giggled, squeezing him. "Come on! She's not as bad as she was when we left. At least she came to the wedding."

He grunted at that. "Spent the entire ceremony looking like she wanted to cut my balls off."

"But she didn't, which in my opinion shows a lot of personal growth," teased Belle, and kissed him. "Now come on. We need to put the cats in their cages and get on the road if we want to be there before midnight."

He returned the kiss, grinning, and they broke apart, shutting the kitchen door and hunting for the two cats. Within an hour they were driving north out of the city, Oscar and Tabitha complaining loudly from their cages on the back seat. Belle watched Gold from the corner of her eyes as he drove, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare, his hair glinting gold and silver in the sunlight. She slipped a hand onto the firm warmth of his thigh, and he sent her a brief smile, concentrating on the road ahead. Soon enough the busy streets gave way to quieter roads, lined with thick forest, and Belle settled back with a sigh as they drove north.

It was nice to be going back to Storybrooke after so long away, and she was eager to see her friends again, but she couldn't deny that what she was really looking forward to was spending some time at the cabin. It had always held a special place in her heart, their quiet retreat with its log fire and the porch looking out over the lake, the place where she had come back to him, where he had laid her down on the thick rug and made her come over and over. She squeezed her thighs together at the memory, wanting him, and Gold glanced across at her briefly as if he could sense her arousal. Married life had done nothing to dampen their desire for one another, but there had been changes other than her last name. He was more content, more peaceful, secure in her love, as she was in his. She watched the dappled light through the trees as the car sped by, willing the journey to be over quickly.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon as the car finally turned onto the main street of Storybrooke, and Belle began fidgeting as they neared the diner. She smiled as she saw Astrid and Leroy pushing a stroller, a small, dark-haired child sitting on Leroy's broad shoulders.

"I didn't know Astrid had had the new baby," said Gold. "They must be thrilled."

"One of each, now," said Belle. "I thought I told you. Ruby mentioned it last month."

Gold pulled to a stop outside Granny's, and Belle took a peek at the back seat. The two cats were asleep, heads tucked down on their paws and tails curled over their noses.

"They'll be fine while we eat," said Gold, squeezing her shoulder, and Belle nodded.

The diner was warm, and smelling of steak and apple pie as they entered. Granny came bustling up, grabbing Belle and pulling her into a hug, and Ruby piled in like a dark-haired whirlwind.

"Oh my _God_!" she squealed, hugging Belle. "What took you so long? I got back yesterday!"

"Final exam was this morning," said Belle ruefully. "How are you, you look great!"

"So do you." Ruby pulled back and then hugged Gold, making him blink rapidly in consternation before she settled back on her heels with a wide grin on her face.

"This place is just the same, you'll be pleased to know," she said. "How long are you staying?"

"Four weeks," said Belle. "More than enough time for you to fill me in on everything that you've been up to. We were planning on having you guys over for dinner in a few days, anyway."

"Well, I guess I'll bring dessert then," said Granny in a gruff voice, eyeing Gold suspiciously. He gave her a wary nod, and she snorted and bustled off to the kitchens again. Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Sit down, you two, you must be starving," she said. "What'll it be? Burgers? Couple of beers?"

"Iced tea for me," said Belle, sharing a grin with Gold.

"Likewise." Gold looked around for a free table, and put a hand on the small of Belle's back. "But the burgers sound excellent, Ruby, thank you."

"Coming right up!"

Ruby spun away cheerfully, and Belle and Gold sat down in one of the booths, ignoring the sidelong looks of some of the residents. Their wedding had been small; only Carella and Ursula, Granny and Ruby and Jefferson and Graham had been invited, but Belle knew that it would have been all around the town soon afterwards. She didn't care what any of them thought. She was blissfully happy. More than she had thought possible. Gold took her hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at her, and she felt her heart swell with love. The feel of her best friend flopping down onto the padded bench next to her made her start, and Ruby nudged her, grinning.

"Missed you," she said, and Belle nudged her back.

"Yeah, missed you too," she admitted. "How's college?"

Ruby groaned, letting her head fall onto her folded arms for a moment.

"Ugh, so much _work_!" she complained. "Finals were a _nightmare_! And then I get back here and Granny sets me to work straight away!"

"Which you should be getting on with, instead of sitting here gossipping," remarked Granny, setting two iced teas down on the table. "Come on, you girls can catch up tomorrow. Belle's here for a month."

Ruby sighed, rolling her eyes, and spun away again. Belle and Gold shared an amused glance before picking up their iced tea. It was cool and refreshing, and Belle let out a sigh as she felt the knots in her shoulders start to unwind. Gold was watching her, his fingers gently stroking the skin on the back of her hand, which felt nice.

"Have you told her?" he asked. "I'm guessing not, if the offer of beer was anything to go by."

Belle shook her head.

"Not yet," she said. "I wanted to do it face to face. Granny'll probably say we're crazy, not waiting for me to finish college."

"Well, these things happen when they happen," he said, with a shrug. "It certainly wasn't planned that way."

"I think it was meant to be," she said, and he grinned.

"I like to think so."

* * *

The burgers were as delicious as ever, and when they had finished, they said a quick goodbye to Ruby and Granny, and promised to come back the next day. Granny eyed Gold over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses the entire time, a disapproving twist to her mouth, but he was used to that, and he supposed that at least her first instinct was no longer to punch him in the crotch.

The cats were awake when they got back in the car, blinking sleepily at them, and Belle reached through the bars of the cages to scratch their ears.

"Carella and Ursula might let them out," she said. "I think they could both use a stretch of their legs. And the litter box."

"We'll go over there now," he said. "Unless you'd rather just go to the cabin? We can always see them tomorrow."

Belle shook her head.

"Let's tell them the news," she said. "I'm gonna tell Ruby and Granny tomorrow, and you know how quickly things spread. I don't want them finding out they're going to be godmothers secondhand."

"So, Carella, Ursula, _and_ Ruby?" he remarked. "Not to mention Jefferson as godfather. Our child is doomed."

Belle swatted his shoulder playfully.

"Given that we're not religious, I should think they'll be imparting important life lessons," she said.

"Like the perfect way to make a martini?"

"Hey, that's _essential_!"

Gold chuckled, starting the engine.

"Yes, darling."

"Besides, Graham should provide some balance," she added. "You know he and Jefferson are looking into adoption. It would be so cute if their kid grows up with ours."

"Difficult to make that work when we're in New York," he remarked, turning the wheel as he pulled away.

"Yeah," said Belle quietly. "Still, I've been thinking about what you said the other day. About living here again."

He glanced across at her. She was chewing her lip in that pensive way she had.

"Oh?" he said carefully. "You'd move back?"

"When I've finished studying," she said. "I love New York, don't get me wrong, but Storybrooke is home to me. Ruby and Granny are here, and the rest of our friends, and - and Dad."

She looked at him, eyes wide and pleading, and he nodded.

"We can live wherever you want," he said gently. "Perhaps you can teach English at the school. If Regina lets you, of course."

Belle sighed.

"Yeah," she said flatly. "That could be an issue."

"Well, I think it's pretty settled that she won't let me," he remarked, turning the car onto the road leading out of town. "So I'll have to be a stay-at-home dad."

"I think you're secretly looking forward to that," she said, and he grinned.

"Nothing secret about it."

* * *

They took the coast road to Carella and Ursula's house, drawing up outside with a low crunch of gravel. The front door opened before Gold had turned off the engine, Carella waving from the porch, clad in leather pants and a black silk top with silver bracelets jingling on her long, pale arms. She tottered down the steps on her high heels, throwing herself on Gold almost before he'd straightened up. He laughed, hugging her, and she kissed his cheeks, leaving lipstick prints on him.

"We thought you were _never_ coming!" she complained. "Is Storybrooke so behind the times that you can't even get a phone signal?"

"We said we'd be here at nine, and it's ten past," he said. "Hardly time to call out the search parties."

"We brought the cats," said Belle. "Is it okay to let them out? They've been in there for hours."

"Oh, you can let them out," said Carella, waving a hand. "Just don't let the little buggers in the kitchen. Ursula made cupcakes, and I don't want to see any lick-marks in the icing that weren't made by me."

Gold grinned, and he and Belle each took a cage from the back seat, Oscar and Tabitha yowling plaintively. They followed Carella into the house, setting down the cages and opening them up, and the cats scampered out with their tails high. Ursula came through from the lounge, dressed in tan pants and a cream blouse, and hugged them both, adding her own lipstick prints to Gold's cheeks.

"Drinks!" announced Carella. "I'll make them. What'll it be? Whisky?"

"Please," said Gold. "No ice."

"I'll - I'll just have some juice or something," said Belle, and Carella stared at her with narrowed eyes.

"Juice?" she said suspiciously, and Gold sighed.

"Belle's pregnant," he said, and Ursula grinned and tapped Carella on the shoulder.

"Pay up," she said, and Carella let out a dramatic groan.

"Fine," she grumbled. "What was it again? Twenty dollars?"

"It was a hundred, and you know it," said Ursula dryly.

"Congratulations, darling." Carella kissed Gold on the cheek. "Your inability to keep it in your pants has cost me dearly, but I suspect you don't care."

"Serves you right for placing bets on my virility," he grumbled, and she chuckled, turning away to kiss Belle.

"Congratulations," she said again. "Ursula and I are looking forward to being disgracefully decadent aunts to your offspring. You can send them to us for two weeks every summer and we'll teach them to cheat at cards and make cocktails."

"Over my dead body," said Gold evenly, as Belle giggled, and the two women cackled.

"Oh, they can make them for us," said Ursula, with a grin. "We'll let them have Coke floats or something."

"And we'll stuff them full of sugar and additives and then send them back to you to raise hell," added Carella.

"I hate this idea already," said Gold. "Is it too late for you to pretend you didn't hear that we're expecting a child?"

Carella stuck out her tongue.

"You love us really."

"Sad but true," he said dryly.

"Besides, we'd like you to be godmothers," said Belle. "Along with Ruby. And Jefferson and Graham will be godfathers."

"One sensible levelheaded person out of five isn't _too_ bad, I suppose," said Carella. "What are you having? Please tell me it's a girl. Rum will burst into tears, I just know it."

"He'll burst into tears whatever it is," drawled Ursula. "He's gonna spend the next five years of his life crying every time the kid looks at him."

"I don't know why I bother coming around here," sighed Gold, shaking his head.

"Because no one in New York teases you like we do, and you secretly miss it," said Carelle knowingly. "Now sit down! I'll get the drinks!"

* * *

By the time they had finished talking, it was after eleven, and when Gold saw Belle yawn for the second time, he decided they should take their leave. They gathered up the cats, hugged and kissed Carella and Ursula and arranged for them to come to dinner in a few days, and carried the cat cages back out to the car. Ursula pressed a box of cupcakes, a bottle of wine and some fresh bread and cheese on them.

"There's probably nothing out at that cabin but teabags, cereal and cans of beans," she said bluntly, which Gold had to admit was true.

They drove slowly back to town, passing along Main Street and turning off to take the road that led into the woods. Belle settled back into the leather seat, watching the dark masses of trees flick past the window. the headlights picking out the shapes of bushes and the dark lengths of tree trunks. Light bounced off small pairs of eyes in the dark as the woodland inhabitants fled from the car's path, and the car turned around a tight bend, heading deeper into the forest. Eventually the familiar sight of the cabin loomed out of the darkness, headlight beams tracking along its rustic wooden walls, and Belle shared a brief grin with Gold as the car drew to a stop.

"Here at last," she said, and he reached up to touch her cheek.

"Home sweet home."

He leaned in to kiss her, and she pressed her lips to his, opening him up to touch his tongue with hers. She rubbed her nose against him, breaking the kiss and pulling back slowly with the taste of him still in her mouth.

The cats were happy to get out of their cages again. They knew the cabin and its surroundings well, but they still padded around sniffing at everything, tails flicking. Belle went to check that the cat door that Gold had installed the year before was still in working order, unlocking the catch with a twist of her wrist. She got out their bowls and set out food and water, and the cats came running, tails high. She straightened up, stretching, and smiled as she felt Gold's hands on her hips, sliding around her waist. He bent his head to kiss her shoulder and the nape of her neck, making her shiver with pleasure.

"Bed?" he murmured. "Or tea?"

Belle turned in his arms, lifting her face up to his.

"Bed," she whispered, and he kissed her forehead.

"Shut the cats in here," he said. "I'm not having Oscar trying to play with my balls again."

She giggled, burying her face in his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.

* * *

They woke at seven the next morning, the cats yowling outside the bedroom door for food, and Belle burrowed down in the covers while Gold made coffee. He took a cup through to her with some of Ursula's cupcakes, and the bread and cheese she had given them, and they ate a leisurely breakfast, sprawled on the blankets with the two cats washing themselves at their feet.

"Can we go into town this morning?" asked Belle, when he had cleared away the plates. "I need to pick up a few things, run some errands. We could meet up at Granny's for lunch."

"Sounds good," he said.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, and she raised her head to kiss his mouth, her hands sliding around him. The kiss deepened as he lowered her back on the bed, his hands sliding down her body and pushing the vest she wore up over her breasts. He pulled back a little, inhaling her scent as he trailed his lips down her throat, moving over the mounds of her breasts, sucking at her hardened nipples and making her moan. Gold shifted lower, pressing a tender kiss to her belly, imagining that the child growing inside her could sense his love, and Belle made a contented sound, running her fingers through his hair. His hands gripped the waistband of her pyjamas, gently pulling them down, and Belle looked up.

"The cats," she whispered, and he glanced behind them.

"Asleep," he said softly. "Do you think we can do this without waking them up?"

Belle grinned. "Not if you do it properly."

* * *

Two hours later the car pulled up outside the cemetery, and Belle shared a glance with Gold, a bunch of lilies and roses resting in her lap, waxy petals sending out a strong fragrance. Sunlight gleamed on his hair, and the gold rims of the sunglasses he wore, and she wanted to kiss him again.

"Do you want to be alone?" he asked gently, and she nodded.

"Do you mind?"

"Of course not. I'll wait here."

"No, it's fine," Belle assured him. "You go into Storybrooke and run whatever errands you want. I'll enjoy the walk back, and there are some things I need to do in town anyway. We can meet at Granny's for lunch."

"You sure you don't want me to come into town with you?" asked Gold. "What if you need to carry anything?"

She shot him a dry look.

"I'm not an invalid," she said. "Besides, I won't be doing anything energetic. I want to get a pedicure, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to hang around in the salon."

He grunted. "True enough."

She leaned over to kiss him, enjoying the feel of his new growth of stubble. He hadn't shaved, a sure sign that they were on holiday, and she rather liked his more relaxed appearance. It reminded her of their honeymoon, when he had spent two weeks largely dressed in slacks and shirts with no tie, his feet bare as they walked on the beach. When they had bothered to get out of bed at all, of course.

"I'll see you later," she said. "Try not to upset anyone."

"You never let me have any fun," he said, but grinned.

She entered the cemetery by the familiar wrought-iron gate, watching as Gold pulled the car away and purred off down the street. Turning her attention back to her task, she walked slowly through the lines of headstones, heading for the all-too-familiar spot where her father's body lay. Someone had already put flowers there: gerberas and chrysanthemums in cheerful shades of red and yellow. She suspected it was Granny. Laying her own flowers down and squatting on her heels, she pulled a few weeds from around the base of the headstone, crumbs of rich, moist earth sticking to her fingers and pushing beneath her nails to form dark crescents. She tossed the weeds aside, sitting up, and ran her fingers over the carved letters of his name.

"Hey Papa," she said quietly.

The breeze snatched at her hair, batting a curl against her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear, inhaling the fresh scent of the earth on her hands and the crushed grass beneath her feet. Birds twittered in the trees around her, and the odd rumble of a passing car was muffled by the dense foliage. It was a peaceful place.

"So, I'm pregnant," she said, her tone light. "That was a bit of a shock, let me tell you. I thought I had a virus at first, but when the test came back… Well, I freaked out a little, not gonna lie."

She remembered the heavy, swooping feeling of panic, and how Rum had taken her in his arms when she told him, and kissed her with tears in his eyes. How he had calmed her down, and talked rationally through her study options. How her initial fear and panic had turned to joy to match his.

"I know it's maybe not the best time, but I'm happy about it, Papa," she said. "We're both so happy. Rum's so excited that he gets to be a father again. You don't have to worry about me, I swear. Married life is good. He's a good man."

A butterfly flitted into her vision, landing briefly on top of the headstone before flying off, and she watched it circle away through the graves with a flutter of black and honey-brown.

"I'm taking a year out of college," she added. "Rum's going to care for the baby when I go back to school. And then when I finish college we'll move back here. I'll be able to visit more often. I'll bring your grandson or granddaughter to see you, I promise. I'm going to tell them all about you. How good and brave you were, and how much you wanted me to be happy. How much you loved me."

Feeling a pang of sadness, she reached out to the headstone again to brush away a trace of cobweb, running the flat of her hand over the surface to clear it of debris. Dusting off her palms, she sat back on her heels, her hands folded in front of her.

"I miss you," she whispered. "Sometimes - sometimes there are days when I don't think of you, and then I feel guilty, but don't think I'll ever forget you. I'll always miss you, Papa. I'll always love you."

She pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers, placing them against his name, the headstone warm from the summer sun, and got to her feet, giving the grave one last look before she turned away.

* * *

Belle did go to the nail salon, but after a quick file and polish she left and walked to the school, enjoying the feel of the sun on her bare arms. The place looked exactly as it had when she had left town two and a half years ago, but it somehow seemed smaller, cheap and unimpressive after the size and quality of the university campus she was now used to. The school was winding down for the year, the classrooms noisy and lively with the promise of summer vacation, and Belle trotted up the stairs to the Principal's office, hesitating outside. The shouts and shrieks of students floated in through the windows, the whistle of the coach shrill in the summer air. She lifted a hand and rapped the painted wood with her knuckles: four sharp taps.

"Come in!" came a familiar voice, and Belle took a deep breath, raising her chin, and opened the door.

Regina Mills looked around from where she was rifling through the drawer of a filing cabinet. The room had a familiar smell, dust and fresh paper and furniture polish, the blinds at the rear windows cutting the late morning sunlight into shards of gold. Regina's mouth thinned as she recognised the visitor.

"Miss French," she said, her expression cool, and Belle put her hands on her hips.

"It's Mrs Gold," she said. "I imagine you know that."

"Yes, I'd heard that he married you," said Regina, closing the drawer of the cabinet with a toss of her dark hair. "I also heard that he _had_ to, but that's another matter."

"I wasn't pregnant," said Belle coldly. "He married me because he loves me. As I love him."

Regina sniffed with derision, and Belle sighed.

"Look, you can be as disbelieving as you like, I really don't care," she said. "I've come to talk to you about something important."

"Really?" Regina looked through the papers in her hands, shuffling them with an air of disdain.

"I know what you've been doing," Belle went on, "and I want you to stop."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Regina stalked back to her desk, sitting down and slapping the papers down without meeting her eyes, and Belle squared her jaw.

"Really?" she said flatly. "So my husband gets offered teaching job after teaching job, and each time it somehow falls through at the last minute? You don't see anything weird there?"

"Coincidence," said Regina dismissively, picking up a pen. Belle stepped forward, leaning on the desk.

"And every time, there's a strange tale about how he left his last job under a cloud of suspicion and skipped town with a student," she said evenly. "Now, who else would be spreading a rumour like that?"

Regina looked up, tapping her pen on the papers in front of her.

"That's not a rumour, Miss French, it's fact."

" _Mrs Gold_ ," corrected Belle. "Like I said. We're married. Very happily married, if you must know. You have no evidence that anything illegal took place, so don't pretend otherwise."

"You must think I'm an idiot!" snapped Regina. "I know full well he was banging you under my very nose!"

"No you don't." Belle straightened up, folding her arms. "You might suspect something, but you've got nothing on him."

"He was _arrested_!" countered Regina, her eyes flashing. "The two of you had sex under the damn stage at Miners' Day, for God's sake!"

"Well, he was never charged with anything," said Belle obstinately. "You know why not? Because there was no evidence. So please stop trying to ruin his life because you're taking it personally that you didn't know about us."

Regina glared at her, almost quivering with rage, and Belle sighed and ran a hand over her face, feeling weary.

"Please," she said more quietly. "I know what you're trying to do, part of it anyway. You think you're protecting people from him, but believe me, no one needs protection. He's not a - a predator. He's just my husband. We just want to get on with our lives."

Regina was silent, glowering at her, and Belle tried again.

"Ms Mills, please," she said, more gently. "I'm - I'm pregnant. We have a baby on the way."

"Oh, dear God…"

"Please!" insisted Belle, running a hand over her belly, which was already starting to curve. "He needs to work, to provide for us. That's all he wants to do."

Regina's mouth twisted.

"So, running off to college didn't exactly work out, then?" she said sarcastically, and Belle could feel herself bristling.

"I'm taking a year out," she said stiffly. "Children come when they come."

"Not if you have a modicum of self-control," said Regina, with a curl of her lip. "Although given his history, I suppose that's too much to ask."

Belle could feel her fists clench, and she reminded herself to stay calm.

"Look, I'm asking you to please think about something other than your dislike of him," she said. "Please don't let me and my child suffer because of this. I have no one else, you know that. Not since my father died."

Regina's mouth worked, as though she was wrestling with something in her mind. Eventually she sighed, sitting back in her chair and raising her head.

"I'm not admitting to having done anything, Miss - Mrs Gold," she said. "But if it makes you feel better, I promise not to take any action that might jeopardise your - collective future. Is that acceptable?"

Belle simultaneously wanted to let out a sigh of relief and slap her old Principal's face. She settled for the former.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "That's a weight off my mind, believe me."

"Hmm." Regina tapped the pen again, pursing her lips. "What are you having? Boy or girl?"

Belle smiled, pressing a hand to her belly.

"Don't know yet," she said. "I'm due in October. The next scan may tell us. Rum thinks it's a girl."

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order."

Regina sounded as though the words were being dragged from her throat, but Belle nodded in acknowledgement, pretending that politeness was a reasonable response to the woman who had been trying to ruin their lives for the past three years.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll - I'll be going then. Good day, Ms Mills."

"Good day, Mrs Gold."

* * *

She didn't tell Gold of her meeting with Regina, as she didn't want to either make him angry about the matter, or get his hopes up about possible job applications. He had mentioned other teaching posts, and it was possible that he could get work to cover the period that she was out of college, at least. Assuming Regina kept her word.

They drove back to the cabin as the sun was sinking low in the sky, a bag of groceries sitting on the back seat, and Belle let her head roll back against the headrest, dappled light flickering over her face as Gold pulled the car to a stop outside.

"Let's have a drink on the porch," she said, looking across at him. "You can have a glass of wine, and I'll have something really dull like tea, and then you can take me to bed and make me scream loud enough to wake up the entire forest."

Gold's mouth twitched.

"I might need something more fortifying than wine if this morning's escapades are anything to go by," he remarked. "Not to mention last night."

Belle rolled her eyes.

"Suck it up, Gold, I'm pregnant," she said. "I'll be out of order for a while once the baby comes, so you should get some while you can."

She opened the door, getting out and sauntering into the cabin, and Gold watched her go with a grin on his face. He got out of the car, picking up the bag of groceries in one arm and following her in.

He made the tea while Belle fed the cats and went out to the porch, carrying his glass of wine. They still had a few cupcakes left, sticky with chocolate frosting, and so he took those out to set on the little table that looked out over the lake. Belle was already sitting there, a book folded in her lap, and he shot her a fond smile and went back inside to fetch her tea. He was carrying it out when Belle put her head around the door, an excited grin on her face.

"Come see!" she whispered, pressing a finger to her lips, and he raised a curious eyebrow.

She disappeared again, and he padded out to the porch, setting down her cup. Belle patted his arm, pointing across the lake, and Gold looked up.

Across the lake, through the green undergrowth of ferns and new saplings, a deer had appeared, snout raised to sniff the air for danger. He felt his mouth spread in a broad smile as he watched her approach the water, the fading sunlight shining on her reddish-brown back. The bushes behind her rustled a little, and two tiny fawns followed her on unsteady legs, the russet fur on their backs spotted with white. They looked like newborns, shaking and ungainly, their ears very large on the sides of their heads and their eyes trained on their mother. The doe approached the water, her black, liquid eyes scanning the forest, ears flicking to deter buzzing insects as her young kept close by her side.

Gold lowered himself carefully into a chair, trying not to make any sudden movements, and after a moment Belle dropped onto his lap, an arm around his neck as they watched the little family inch closer to the water. She had her fingers in his hair, stroking gently, and he felt a wave of calm wash over him, his body relaxing. After everything they had been through, much of which had been caused by his own stupidity, the happiness they now shared seemed almost too good to be true. His mind briefly flicked back to that dreadful night when he had broken her and cast her aside, tearing out his own heart in the process. That she was with him now, his wife, curled in his arms and expecting his child, made him want to cry.

The mother deer had approached the edge of the lake and bent her head to drink, lapping at the water, shining droplets flicking up into the air. The fawns jostled one another to get close to her, spindly legs spreading as they ducked their heads to quench their thirst, snuffling a little and shaking their heads as the water splashed on their noses. Gold put a hand up Belle's leg, sliding it up to rest on the curve of her belly, and she leaned her head against his, the sweet scent of her hair drifting into his nose.

"I love you," she whispered, and he turned his head to face her.

"I love you, too," he said, and lifted a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking over her soft skin. "I want to make you happy, Belle. I want to give you everything you need, I swear it."

She smiled and nuzzled his nose with hers.

"You already did."

He kissed her, and Belle opened her mouth to taste him, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. His mouth was warm and sweet, his hair like strands of silk between her fingers, and she inched closer, pressing her body against his as his arms went around her. Birds chirped in the branches as they began to roost, a rustle in the undergrowth as the deer retreated into the forest, and the sun sank behind the trees in a blaze of molten bronze. She pulled back a little, resting her forehead against his with a slow, contented smile. This was their place. This was home. This was forever.


End file.
